


Ori Tells a Story

by sra_danvers



Category: The Hobbit - All Media Types
Genre: Abuse of Recovery Time, Art, First Time, Fluff and Crack, Jealous Thorin, Loss of Virginity, M/M, Not explicit Durincest, Rimming, Virgin Kink, mentions of mpreg
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-07-21
Updated: 2013-07-21
Packaged: 2017-12-20 22:34:17
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 21,240
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/892678
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sra_danvers/pseuds/sra_danvers
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Prompt: #10 by cleo_jay for the <a href="http://hobbitstale.livejournal.com/4587.html">Hobbitstale Fest</a>: Thorin hired Ori as fanfiction scribe for the Company; fanfic to be read aloud at the fireside as entertainment on the journey. Bilbo's interpretation of scribe is rather different & far more traditional, so he is initially scandalised & ultimately titillated as the fics are read out. Especially as the quest progresses & he becomes the subject of more than a few of Ori's stories!</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks to my beta [stickdonkeys](http://archiveofourown.org/users/stickdonkeys/pseuds/stickdonkeys), and to [Moonbeam](http://archiveofourown.org/users/luvsbitca/pseuds/Moonbeam) for his help and encouragement. English it's not my mother language, and this story is good enough to read only thanks to them. To them and especially to  
> [Kay_Morgan](http://archiveofourown.org/users/Kay_Morgan/pseuds/Kay_Morgan): Eva, gracias por tu coquete y por los ánimos! Sin ti no hubiera llegado a veinte páginas... :-*

_Far over the misty mountains cold._  
 _To dungeons deep, and caverns old._  
 _We must away, 'ere break of day._  
 _To find our long forgotten gold._  
 _The pines were roaring on the height._  
 _The winds were moaning in the night._  
 _The fire was red, it flaming spread.  
_ _The trees like torches blazed with light._

 

Bilbo shivered in his bed, embracing his knees tightly. The deep voices of the dwarves reached him from his hall, full of melancholy and longing.

Bilbo empathised with his forced guests, he was very sad for their home, but nonetheless a Hobbit like him had no place on an adventure. Bilbo was a Baggins, and Bagginses didn’t wander outside the Shire for any reason…

Powerful voices from the hall interrupted his line of thoughts. This time they weren’t singing, it seemed more like politely asking, certainly a new attitude for these rude and noisy dwarves. Then only one voice was heard. The soft voice surely belonged to that mild-mannered lad, the one with the knitted vest. Bilbo just managed to hear his words because the rest were suddenly very quiet. 

Although he felt like an intruder, Bilbo couldn’t stop listening to that musical voice. The dwarf was narrating a story, a sad, terrible story. Words of horror, misery and despair described the feelings of his people, running for their lives, escaping from the fire drake that was taking their home: Erebor.

He was asleep before the story got to the end, exhausted from the stressful events of the day. On his cheeks, his dried tears had left salty trails.

The next day Bilbo found himself riding a pony beside one of the dwarves.

Of all the things that made Bilbo decided to join the company, the sad history the young dwarf had recounted was the most convincing; though the emotive song that they all sung together was a close second.

The dwarf with the funny hat, the one who was riding next to Bilbo, told him the lad was called Ori. In fact, he informed him of the name of every member of the company, including kinships and everyone’s trade. That was how Bilbo discovered that Fíli and Kíli were the company’s leader’s nephews.

When they were setting up camp, Bilbo approached Dori to praise his shy brother. “I couldn’t help overhearing Ori’s story about the attack of Erebor last night. It was quite impressive.”

Dori’s face was suddenly red, pleased at the appreciation. “Yes, I must admit that my brother is an excellent scribe.”

“Oh, he’s a scribe?” Bilbo asked. Bofur hadn’t told him that. Now he understood how the young dwarf could tell such a dramatic story. “Ori’s too young, isn’t he? He must not have born yet in those days.”

“Of course he wasn’t!” Exclaimed Dori, suddenly cross with the hobbit. ”Some of it was scholarly research, but it was mainly in his imagination!” He added, so proud of his brother’s skill at creating a story.

Bilbo nodded with respect and went to help Bofur, thinking about Dori’s unusual response. But he didn’t worry much about it because the Dwarves’ customs were so different than those of his people.

Later that night Bilbo was quite annoyed. The dinner had been good enough, in spite of it being camp grub. But then the company settled around the bonfire and Ori began to tell another story. In Khuzdul.

Bilbo knew that the previous night he shouldn’t have been listening, but honestly, speaking a language he didn’t know was quite rude. Bilbo observed Gandalf carefully. The wizard was listening with shining eyes and a mischievous smile. Bilbo was indeed the only one in the company that wasn’t catching a word, then. He was smoking his pipe quietly, while the others were amused, taking part in the story by shouting and laughing.

Then a dwarf, the one with the star-shaped hairstyle, approached him. He was Ori’s other brother, Bilbo remembered. “Don’t worry, I’ll ask for a good story tomorrow. Or you can do it yourself,” Nori said. 

“Ask for a story?” Bilbo repeated, befuddled.

“Aye. Ori can make up any story in a tick. But it’s better if you ask him in the morning; it shall give him more time to plot. And please, ask him for the naughty details in private, Ori’s so shy when he’s not working…”

“What?” Bilbo asked, all flushed and being utterly unaware of that _naughty_ meaning. “I can’t by any chance… Wait; you said working?”

“Aye, fellow. You don’t know what Ori does?”

Bilbo eyed Nori’s older brother, who was listening attentively to the story and ignoring them. “Dori said to me that Ori is a scribe.”

“And he is,” Nori agreed proudly. “A good one. But he also has a name as a writer, a _fiction_ writer. That’s why Ori was hired for the quest. And me too, I’m the living proof that Thorin likes my brother’s stories very much. You know, back at Ered Luin folks know that I have sticky fingers. Not the kind of company a king favours” Nori mocked, and winked at Bilbo. “Tonight Glóin requested specifically that Ori tell the story in Khuzdul because, you know…” The dwarf winked again and gave him and knowing smile. Bilbo’s face showed that he was entirely without a clue. “Well, it is about… his wife.” Nori said cryptically, making a wave motion with his hips. And then he disappeared into the forest, walking with a cocky attitude.

Bilbo relit his pipe and meditated on the dwarf’s words. How could a scribe make up a story on demand? And what did Nori mean with all that winking and beaming?

“Dwarves are quite a merry gathering, although too private with unknown people.” Gandalf said, startling Bilbo, who was in deep thought. “Did you know dwarrowdames are very scarce? And that they have beards as gorgeous as their husbands?”

“Yes Gandalf, in fact, I know that. Glóin has been talking about his wife and her thick beard the whole day. That’s why I wonder why he doesn’t want me to hear his spouse’s story when he has spoken about her in my presence before.” Bilbo said, crossly.

“Oh, but that story’s quite private.” Gandalf mentioned. Bilbo was puzzled again, but then he remembered Nori’s knowing smiles and the word _naughty_. “That’s it, my dear fellow! Just that kind of story.” The wizard corroborated, having seen Bilbo’s understanding face.

“Surely Glóin could not request… No. But she’s his spouse! Ori wouldn’t…” Bilbo exclaimed, shocked and scandalised. Dwalin spun around and hushed them, then he returned to look at the scribe in admiration.

“She’s not really his spouse, Bilbo. Ori doesn’t know her, not in that way, at least. It’s all fiction, an amusing and harmless entertainment.” Gandalf said, trying to pacify Bilbo. “After all, it was, in the main part, what Thorin contracted him for.”

Bilbo was perplexed. “But… but that’s scandalous!” Bilbo shouted, which earned him another glare from Dwalin.

“Maybe in the Shire yes, it is” Gandalf agree. “Nevertheless, I saw that you keep certain books in your bookcase…”

“That’s not the same!” Bilbo yelled, and Dwalin could glare him if he wanted. _The wizard’s nerve!_ Bilbo thought. _Accusing me of indecency!_ “Not the same at all. That is… literature. And it’s private! And… and… and I’m single!”

Dwalin was not the only one who was glaring at the hobbit then. But Bilbo ignored them and went to smoke close to the ponies. After all, they were talking in a language he didn’t understand, so they could put up with his little fuss.

Gandalf, too, ignored Thorin’s glaring, knowing well what the Durin prince thought about the halfling. _Well, these two will have to learn to respect the differences between their respective people. Yes, that’ll be most amusing to witness._

The next evening, Bilbo made sure to be far from the fireside after dinner. He sat on a big log and smoked his pipe calmly, waiting for the _entertainment_ of the night to end so he could sleep at peace.

Bofur and Nori crushed his hopes when they went and forced him to sit by the fire, just between the two dwarves. Then, and only then, Ori started speaking. “This night I have chosen Nori’s request.” Some of them cheered. Apparently, Nori was known for providing good plots. Bilbo wriggled in discomfort; he hopped this time Ori would recite in Khudzul as well. “It’s going to be a bit explicit. I say that just to be sure, I don’t want to offend anyone, but as a matter of fact it’ll be more funny than racy.” Ori said, staring at Bilbo with an apologetic smile. “High violence rate, but not at intimate moments.”

Bilbo tried to run away before that impish story began, but two pairs of hands held him in place. Then Ori begun:

**”It was a cold night, especially inside the mountain. And it was worse in the lower districts of Ered Luin. Our hero was strolling through the Red-light District.”** Bilbo was not the only one who tensed at that name. Dori glared at Nori and shook his head in disbelief. **”He was forbidden admittance to most of the hostess bars he passed, so he went to his favourite: _The Happy Hammer._ ”**

“Oh, please, Dori!” Nori complained then, noticing his big brother’s disapproving face. “I did not tell him that, he invented the name!” he shouted, hands in the air. Then he said to Ori: “But it was a fitting name, Brother.”

“Shut up and let the lad continue,” Dwalin said with a growl.

Bilbo smiled at the brothers’ exchange. In a certain way it was funny that Dori was worried about propriety, given that his little brother was about to tell an indecent story.

But the tale ended up being funnier than he thought, and not as naughty as he feared. There was a lot of action; Nori spent the story fighting and running away from the guards. That part annoyed Dwalin noticeably. But true to his word, the scribe described few spicy parts, and not very explicit, mainly Nori deep-kissing and groping some streetwalkers.

If the spicy parts were a bit vague, well, Bilbo was not disapointed. Not at all, or so he tried to tell himself.

The quest was not as terrible as Bilbo feared, at least when it was not raining over their heads or when he didn’t have some pesky stones under his bedroll.

Bilbo’s beliefs made him cling to his initial opinion about the dwarves’ nightly entertainment, even though he was eager to listen to more stories every night. He learnt that, like the first time at his home, they asked for generic stories too: tales of adventure, tales of family, or even scary ones. But the majority of the nights someone would call for an encore and Ori always obliged, adding a short, spicy story to his repertory of the night. Usually by that time Bilbo was already on his bedroll, sheet covering up his ashamed faint smile.

Bilbo eventually came to admire Ori. The lad really was a skilled scribe —Bilbo witnessed how good he was while he was transcribing one of his stories for Óin to keep—, but he was also a fast creator that knew well how to plot and improvise in mere seconds. Throughout the day, however, Ori was a shy dwarf who blushed at the smallest praise.

One day, after they set up for the night, Bofur approached the scribe to ask him for a story. Bilbo, who was close to the merry dwarf as usual, was listening. “Hey laddie, I have a request for my brother. He had that sweetheart at Ered Luin, before he met his wife. She was as chubby as Bombur is now, if not more. I know he would love to remember those sweet times…” Bofur said, with his most playful leer.

“Aye. I’ll reflect on it.” Ori acknowledged with a little bow. Then he went away to help his big brother with their bedrolls.

“I think you had no good aim with that, Bofur.” Bilbo said, when they were alone. “Bombur is quite shy, if I’ve come to know him at all.”

“That’s just why I asked Ori. Bombur would never have asked himself, ye know.” Bofur answered back, still smiling.

“I don’t think he’ll enjoy hearing about… that. The rest will think… that he really did _something_ unseemly with that lady…” Bilbo said, becoming embarrassed.

“And he did _something_ , indeed! That lass was so insatiable that my brother arrived home every night with…”

“But, but… they were not married!” Bilbo exclaimed. He was so scandalised that he didn’t even realise he was revealing himself with that sentence.

“And what is the matter, pal? Most of us don’t marry before our hundredth birthday, and some Dwarves never marry, considering the low number of dwarrowdames.” Bofur explained. Then he noticed how rosy Bilbo’s cheeks were. “Ye Hobbits don’t do casual sex before marriage?” he asked, incredulous. Bilbo flushed ever more. “Are ye single, Bilbo?” he inquired, even though Bofur knew it so well, for he had chatted with the hobbit a lot.

“It’s just… it’s not proper.” he answered, gazing at the floor. After a while, he glanced at Bofur. He was staring at him, with his mouth open and unusually quiet. It was the first time the hobbit had managed to silence the dwarf. “I’ll just… I’m going to help Bombur with dinner.” Bilbo said, before walking away, ashamed and nervous.

It took a long time for Bofur to react. For Dwarves, virginity was a special subject: the outset of one of the few joys of life. When a dwarf found his _one_ , the couple would forever remain faithful and would never search for casual relief in other places. But until that day, Dwarves took from life whatever mirth it provided. That was why they didn’t wait for the right partner to appear because their long lives would be so lonely in many cases, when one would not find his true soul mate.

Bofur wondered for a moment what he would feel if he were to be the ringmaster of Bilbo’s _Rite of Passage_. The dwarf had come to care for the smooth-chinned hobbit. Bofur appreciated his kind personality and his homely tastes. Even with the strange ways of Bilbo’s people, he was always trying to understand Bofur’s jokes and merry comments, sharing a laugh with him even if sometimes his smile was chastising.

He stood up and walked towards Ori, his posture determined. “Hey lad, I have another request. This isn’t for me either. It’s Bilbo, ye know how he feels every night, he’s usually all flushed. I thought if ye could tell a story for him… not too hot, something light. And… he would accept it better if he were paired with someone he trusts… like me. Ye know we talk a lot, and we usually ride together. He even lays his bedroll next to where my family and I place ours.”

Ori nodded with a little knowing smile. Dori saw the flush in his brother’s cheeks and joined them, knowing how shy Ori was when he was not in a _creative_ mood. “This night it’s time for a new chapter of _Ered Luiner, life ruiner_ ” Dori said. Ori had created a saga to praise his brother’s beauty, which he had begun before the company arrived to the Shire.

“There’s no hurry, ye just think about that, laddie.” Bofur said, with his usual smile. Then he went to help his brother prepare dinner. He couldn’t help leering at Bilbo.

That night there wasn’t a story for Dori or for Bofur. The only adventure they had happened in real life. A scary tale with trolls, orcs and even a mad wizard who travelled on a sledge pulled by rabbits. Rhosgovel rabbits.

The following night, at Rivendell, Bilbo was the only one who accepted the room the elves offered them. He wouldn’t reject a fine bed when it was offered so kindly, especially after nights sleeping on blasted rocks. Thorin and Gandalf were dinning with Lord Elrond. The rest of the company assembled around the bonfire they had lit using elven furniture.

“Tell us a story, Ori!” requested Nori happily. “Let’s put some amusement in this dull place.”

“Aye!” yelled several dwarves. The rest roared their approval.

“Well, I think it’s a good night for me to meet the demand for stories about our burglar that some of you requested.” The following praise annoyed Bofur. _How many had asked for a story with Bilbo?_ he wondered. He thought he had been the only one to request it. _I’m his best friend!_ he thought, feeling possessive and irritated.

“My brother is so smart, he’s choosing the first day _the prude_ Mister Baggins is not with us!” Nori said, mocking Bilbo. Bofur took offence on his friend’s behalf, but he didn’t say a thing, not wanting to spill the beans and betray Bilbo’s secret. Especially because, if Nori and the rest knew that the hobbit was a virgin, all of them would ask for more stories. Probably someone even would make a move on him. And Bofur didn’t like that idea, not at all.

“Aye, Ori’s smart,” agreed Dwalin. “The moment couldn’t be better. Even Thorin is not here, and we all know he’s always glaring at the halfling”. Some laughs and whistles proved the company knew well that their leader looked down on Bilbo. Only Balin remained composed. He was the closest to Thorin, and he knew what all those looks really meant. If Thorin Oakenshield really despised him, he would not pay him any attention, he would simply ignore him.

“So this story shall be a _solo_ ” Ori stated. The news were received with a chorus of complaints. Dwalin made a rude gesture and the dwarves fell silent, giving a chance for Ori to explain himself. “I thought that way I would respect Bilbo’s decorum. That, and I still haven’t any sort of knowledge of a Hobbit body. Tomorrow I’ll ask Lord Elrond for access to his library.”

“You could share the baths tomorrow with Bilbo, better than asking a favour of an elf.” Dori said. “Of course, only for a field study,” he added, always worrying about his brother’s virtue.

“Or you could ask Bofur!” exclaimed Nori. “He was the one who shared the bath today with the hobbit,” he said, with his sarcastic smirk. Bofur’s usual smile was nowhere to be seen. Mostly because even though he had indeed shared that awesome bath with Bilbo, the discreet hobbit managed to show very little nude skin.

“Not yer problem, who bathes with who.” Dwalin said, glaring at the thief. Nori smiled wide again, knowing with _whom_ the warrior would choose to bathe. And that was not going to happen if he and Dori had a say in that.

“I’m going to start now.” Ori advised, trying to calm the hostile environment. **“Bilbo Baggins missed so many things from home, handkerchiefs being the least vital.”** some laughs showed the dwarves had got the joke. **“One dark evening, when he was alone in the forest relieving himself, he realized how much he was missing his privacy.”**

“I would help him to find private _relief_!” cried Nori. His older brother slapped him on the back of his neck. Bofur approved of Dori’s reaction.

**”A week without pleasuring himself, a week without a visit to the Hobbit lasses at Bree’s brothel.”**

“No, brother! Not lasses for our _confirmed bachelor_! He would pick a fella, listen to your sharp broth… Hey!” Nori complained after another slap.

“Are you going to let Ori tell the story? Or do I need to gag you?” warned Dori. Nori snorted without relinquishing his smirk.

**”After these enticing thoughts, he couldn’t put his hobbit tool back into his pants. The thing was rebellious in his hand, like it had a mind of its own. So Bilbo looked to right, then left. And he stroked himself, just a little bit. The fear of being caught was so strong. He pressed his back against a tree and forced himself to stay alert and not close his eyes. But it was not easy when he resumed the movement of his hand. He bit his lower lip, silencing a moan that wanted to escape from his very throat.”**

While Ori was describing that sensual self-pleasure, Bofur couldn’t help but imagine what the real Bilbo would think in that situation. Touching himself in public, when nobody had touched him before. Bilbo would feel so nervous, so dirty… Bofur was all flushed. He cast a shadow over his face with his hat. But nobody was paying him any attention; in fact his cheeks were not the only ones with a shade of red. So he continued with his own story. He pictured himself in the forest with Bilbo. He was not a storyteller like Ori, but he could imagine the hobbit’s face when he notice his presence. He would be all flushed, ashamed and even shivering, with his prick swinging in his hand. Then… then maybe he would see it was he, Bofur, his dear friend. And Bilbo would relax. A bit. Just enough to let him get close, closer to his body and Bofur would…

“I’ll just continue with a new chapter of _Ered Luiner, life ruiner_ ” Ori was saying. Bofur furrowed his brow. He couldn’t believe he had been _out_ for so long that the lad had finished the story. But then he saw Thorin. Of course, the leader came to wind up the night. And now they must listen to more of Dori’s praises.

Well, he preferred his imagination, where an untouched body awaited only him.

The company was delayed in Rivendell for many days, waiting for the right shape of the moon so Lord Elrond could read the rune-letters. So Ori decided one night to help Bilbo with his integration in the group.

“Master Bilbo,” he started, with his most polite tone. “Wouldn’t you ask for a story too? You’re the only one who hasn’t requested one.” The rest of the company was silent, attentive and curious.

“Well, there’s one story I would love to listen to, if you must know. You’re a scribe, aren’t you? You must know a lot of tales. Now that we are in Rivendell, how about telling the Tale of Beren and Lúthien Tinúviel?”

Suddenly all the dwarves were unusually quiet. Not a single complaint was heard. So many of them were open-mouthed. Then Ori tried to explain: “I couldn’t… That would be a trigg… it’s forb… I don’t know well the story,” said the scribe finally. There were only three general rules in his contract: _First: All sexual relationships must be consensual. Second: The characters maintaining these relationships must be older than sixty. Third: No elves unless they are villains._

“Oh,” said Bilbo, disappointed. “Then I…” he began to explain. Until Thorin interrupted him: “If you want an epic romance, you can listen to a Khazâd one: the Tale of Farin and Dîm.”

Ori made a little bow in acquiesce at their leader. He revised the story in his mind. That tale was famous even amongst unread dwarves, but he wanted to make an impression with it. Especially with it being just the second story Thorin requested; the first had been that day at Master Bilbo’s home, the one of the escape from Erebor.

**“In the First Age, the Iron Hills were inhabited by the Longbeards,”** he began, with a respectful nod to Thorin and his nephews. **“They lived alternating peace times with attacks from the nearby Angband. But they also had their own conflicts inside the mountain. Many generations ago a member of the Durin folk had married a lass from the Petty-dwarves —who were dwarves of several houses, which had been exiled in very ancient times—. From that day on he was no more of the line of Durin, and their descendants had been marked.”** Ori glanced at his older brother, who had described that same story when he was a dwarfling. Dori had explained to him that their family story bore a sad resemblance to Dîm’s one. **”The warring families never forgot their feud; the Longbeards never accepted that the Îms descended, too, from the Seven Fathers, nor did the Îms ever forget the scorn committed against their family. The confrontations between both families were usual and violent, but, fortunately for the Iron Hills’ community the paths of the Longbeards and the descendants of the Petty-dwarrowdame didn’t cross often, at least not until fight practice between schools. Every year the fight-instructor started with the younger combatants confronting a member of each family, knowing the show would attract a lot of spectators, and not only from both families. That year the duel promised to be particularly spectacular. Farin, the nephew of the Iron Hills’ Lord, was a weakling dwarf who loved books more than axes.”** Ori laughed self-deprecatingly, but everybody was so captured by the story that this time there was no laughter or humorous comments. Only Dwalin, who that night was sitting beside the scribe, clapped his shoulder lightly. Ori flushed and hesitated when he continued with the story: **”His… opponent was Dîm, a strong, well-built dwarf. He was forty, the same as Farin, though he was taller and broader than him. In spite of his girth, his movements were agile and fast. He seemed born to be a warrior. His mattock was enormous, and he managed to disarm Farin in just one blow, taking his sword from him in the first round. The clamour of the audience was deafening. It was not every day a member of the Dîms could get to humiliate a Longbeard. Both families were insulting each other across the ring. Fortunately, the instructors learned years ago to separate the public after one tragic showdown. Suddenly there was a deathly silence. Dîm had passed the sword to Farin. Nobody gave second chances, and especially not between Longbeards and Îms; it was just unthinkable. Dîm’s act of goodwill made him lose the advantage, the fight started from scratch again. The second —first— round was longer. The audience was finally enjoying a good competition, just not the vicious one they were expecting. Maybe Dîm was stronger, but Farin was good at strategy, and the most important thing was that they followed the basic norms and fair play. At the end, Farin cornered Dîm with a good tactic. The stronger dwarf was disarmed, but Farin knew that he could still overcome him with his strength, so he did the same Dîm had done on the first round. The combat was even. The audience roared again, this time against the two fighters. ‘It’s the first time I have seen my family joining yours in a common cause’ said Farin, offering his hand to help his opponent stand up. Dîm, who was not in the habit of speaking very much, because he was as shy as he was big, only offered a timid smile. And that was enough to establish a friendship that lasted forever. They used to meet secretly outside the mountain, sometimes to play in the Redwater River, sometimes just to talk. They shared their knowledge; Farin with his books and Dîm with his weapons. They grew up together, indifferent to their familie’s feud. Until the day Azaghâl, the King of Belegost, called for help before the Battle of Unnumbered Tears. The Lord of the Iron Hills came to his aid sending his best warriors in hopes of finally ending Morgoth’s menace. Dîm was one of them. Farin was so agitated that he asked his uncle to let him go with the little army of dwarves, but the lord denied him, knowing his nephew’s skill was in his mind, not in his physical ability. Farin was devastated in the face of his best friend’s departure to war, knowing how fierce the enemy they were to confront was. Dîm tried to reassure him, even when he himself was not sure of his return. Being from a poor family, Dîm did not have much to offer. Nonetheless he delivered his more valued possession to Farin; a small ruby that his mother had given him hoping that some day he could give it to his beloved as a gift of courtship. Dîm knew he would never found a dwarrow lady to love. Farin treasured that little jewel more than he ever prized the ones which shone in his crown, though those were bigger and more valuable. Days later the little army returned decimated. Azaghâl had been killed by Glaurung the Dragon, though the dwarf King managed to stab the beast in the stomach. Dîm was nowhere to be found. Farin was so devastated that he went to the Îms, on the lower levels. They were astonished to see a Longbeard asking after one of them, but the pain in his face was so clear that they took pity on him and answered his question. The answer was not easy to hear: Dîm had not returned from the _Dagor Nírnaeth Arnoediad_. He was not dead, though his family had lost all hope: nobody returned from Angband’s cells. But Farin was an educated dwarf, and he knew _Sindarin_. He remembered that six years ago a lady elf had gone to Angband’s heart to rescue her Man-lover. So he asked his uncle for help, uncovering his friendship with an Îm. He even spoke to him about the story of Lúthien and Beren, but that only made his uncle more enraged. So Farin grabbed Dîm’s small ruby and requested a blacksmith to set the gemstone in his sword. With it he went alone in search of his friend. Maybe he was not an elf, nor had he the help of Huan the Great Hound or the Eagles of Manwë, but Dîm was not a man, he was a dwarf, a strong one that could bear more than that lesser race. His friend was a prisoner of little importance so he was in a place with little security. That way Farin could reach him without unwanted encounters. He found Dîm badly injured, and unconscious, but Farin was so ecstatic that he managed to wake him up with their first kiss.”** At that point Bilbo was in tears, cuddled beside Bofur. But that kiss took him aback. _Weren’t they both males?_ He thought maybe he was confused, for dwarrowdames had beards too. **”Farin felt Dîm’s smile through their still-joined lips. ‘Am I dead, then?’ asked the warrior, figuring himself in the Halls of Mandos, with the only thing he had craved in all his life: the love of his own Longbeard.”**

Bilbo was shocked. He knew the cultural differences between his people and the dwarves were numerous, and thanks to Ori’s stories he discovered how many. But that… that really was a taboo in the Shire. He couldn’t help but ask Bofur: “Farin and Dîm… they… were they dwarves? I mean… not dwarrowdames…”

Bofur smiled at him with his usual kindness. “Aye, they were both dwarves. Two dwarves in love,” he added. He had been waiting for the moment Ori told a same-sex story, hoping to discover Bilbo’s tastes. Bofur put his hand on the hobbit’s one, staring at him.

“Are Dwarves’ tales are not as epic as Elvish ones, Burglar?” Thorin said angrily. Bilbo flushed, ashamed but offended too, considering that the others were always talking too and Thorin hadn’t ever said a word. Bilbo looked Ori in the eyes seeking forgiveness for interrupting his story. The scribe just smiled at him and continued narrating. **”…it was midday when they arrived at the Iron Hills. His uncle had been so worried for him that he greeted Farin without complains. The Îms thanked Farin profusely and welcomed him to the family when it became clear they were more than friends, for he insisted on not moving from Dîm’s side. The Lord of the Iron Hills blessed their bond, a love that finally reunited the two families as one. And that was how Farin and Dîm become our Lúthien and Beren”** finished Ori, looking at Bilbo with an affectionate smile.

This time, there were no shouts or applauses. Some of them accosted the scribe to praise him, even with a clap on his shoulder. The lad was flushed with pride. Bilbo was too shocked to talk. He remained next to Bofur, who was giving him time to recover his composure.

“They would have been rejected. You know, my people, in the Shire. They would never have welcomed them. These… things are not accepted.” Bilbo said, with a sad voice.

“That _thing_ ye ‘r speaking about it’s love, Bilbo. They would not respect that?”

“No. It’s not the way it works for hobbits. You have to marry a lass or nothing, there. Sometimes… sometimes two friends leave the Shire to go live together at Bree. But they can’t return home, not even to visit their family.”

“And ye haven’t married a lass?”

“No, I haven’t,” agreed Bilbo, staring at Bofur in return.

“Bilbo…” the miner started to say. But he could not finish the sentence, for a low voice interrupted him: “Bofur, take the first watch.”

“The first watch? But… _here_?” asked Bofur, furrowing his brow.

“Especially _here_. And you, Master Baggins, had better go and enjoy your soft bed. Soon you’ll be missing it.”

Bilbo just sighed and stood up, used to Thorin’s slights. “Good night, Bofur,” he said then, before going to his room. Just at his door he met Balin, who seemed to have been waiting for him. “Good night, Balin.”

“Yes, yes, it is. Don’t mind Thorin, laddie.” Balin said, trying to stand up for his prince.

“Don’t worry Balin. I know well how he despises me” answered Bilbo, resigned but sad.

“That’s not true. It’s just he has not had an easy life…”

Bilbo was told another story, that night: How prince Thorin had come to be Thorin Oakenshield.


	2. Chapter 2

_“He’s been lost ever since he left home. He should never have come. He has no place amongst us.”_

Bilbo listened to that sentence in his mind again and again. After the terrible encounter with the Stone Giants, Thorin’s words were his worst memory from that night.

If Gandalf had been there, Bilbo would be glaring at him for meddling in his placid life and forcing Thorin to contract him, when it was obvious that the dwarf didn’t want him in his company. 

Bilbo was alone on his bedroll at the back of the cave. Bofur was on watch and nobody else cared enough to comfort him, especially after the way their leader had treated him. At least those were Bilbo’s thoughts, because then two dwarves came to lie next to him. He could hear Kíli’s and Fíli’s whispers of comfort. They had suffered a good deal too that night, one almost losing the other.

Ori joined them a little later. “Hey guys. Your uncle gave me free a night. No tale tonight for the older dwarves. Do you want a story just for the both of you? Just like in the good old days.”

“Aye, aye!” answered Kíli rapidly. Bilbo noticed the anxiety in his voice.

Soon his brother added: “Just the thing we need now, fellow.”

“That’s what I thought,” whispered the scribe. “Who wants to be on top?” 

“Kíli.” Fíli said without hesitation.

Bilbo didn’t know what that meant, but then the younger brother moaned wantonly, so the hobbit supposed that Ori was asking who wanted to be the principal character that night. Oddly, the scribe began a story describing Fíli’s room.

**”Gemstones, mithril and gold garnished the ceiling. But not even the glow of the candlelight reflected on it was enough distraction for the prince. He was the heir of the King Under the Mountain, now that his uncle had reclaimed Erebor. But all he ever wanted was not in that pompous room. Fíli got out of bed and went to the Royal room, where his uncle was already eating breakfast. ‘Do you want some?’ Offered Thorin. ‘No. I just want answers. You told me that when we were settled into the mountain…’ Thorin didn’t let him continue: ‘Fíli. Couldn’t you wait until your mother arrives?’ Fíli shook his head. ‘All right, this is not the place or the moment, but I can tell you unofficially that I’ll look for a dwarrowdame to be my consort and continue Durin’s line. You will be my heir still, and my descendants will be yours. Nobody shall force you to marry against your will. That’s what you wanted, isn’t it?’ Fíli couldn’t reply. Not with words. He bounced on his uncle, embracing him with tears in his eyes. He knew what his happiness had a cost for Thorin, that the arranged wedding would also be a sacrifice for the king.’**

Bilbo felt the knot he had in the pit of the stomach grow tighter, and that huge ache was not caused by Fíli’s situation. It was the thought of Thorin marrying another, Thorin being with someone else. Bilbo was upset for he had not the right to be… jealous. Not over Thorin Oakenshield, the leader of the company, the only one who had openly expressed his distaste for him. Of course he would marry once he reclaimed his throne. If only Bilbo could be braver and show him that he is not lost, that he really has a place amongst them. Bilbo would give everything to make Thorin’s proud of him. He would not return to Bag End. He would even carry his offspring, even if the idea scared and overwhelmed him. But he was daydreaming; Thorin would never get over his distaste. Bilbo decided it was better to listen to Ori’s story and distract himself from impossible dreams.

 **“…and he shut Fíli’s mouth with his own, in a kiss so fierce that…”** Bilbo was shocked when he heard that _he_ , but then he remembered the story of Farin and Dîm. **“…so Fíli bit his brother’s lip too.”** There was no way Bilbo would have misunderstood that. _Sweet Yavanna, these Dwarves had no boundaries at all!_ he thought. Then he had a quick glance at them. They seemed not to mind at all what Ori was telling about them. In fact… Fíli was reclined against a rock, with Kíli’s back leaning against his chest. The younger one was sitting between the other’s legs, his flushed cheek on his brother’s shoulder. Bilbo noticed that Fíli’s hands disappeared under Kíli’s tunic. That story was not only in Ori’s mind. But after all that Bilbo had learnt about Dwarves, he was not outraged. He couldn’t help but to continue to listen. **“…grabbed Fíli’s hands over his head and marked his neck with his teeth. ‘Tell me you’re mine. Tell me you’ll always be,’ said Kíli. He didn’t look away from his brother’s eyes, his pupils dark and dilated. ‘I’m yours. I’ll be yours forever, only yours. Now I know for sure. Mark me, do it now,’ whispered Fíli. Kíli did it; he bit his brother’s neck without restrain. Fíli cried in pain and in joy at the same time. And then he cried more, when Kíli entered him.”** Bilbo knew what that meant. Maybe he was a virgin, but he had read a lot of books, Elvish and human books. Bilbo knew so well how a male made love to another. He had spent so many hours imagining it. And now, he also knew what Ori meant when he had said _on top_. **“…licked the little tear on his brother’s cheek, and then he kissed him properly, swallowing his moans. He kept his pace…** Boys,” said the scribe, changing his tone of voice dramatically. “Hey boys, it’s better that… I’ll continue it another day, all right?” he added, embarrassed.

Bilbo discovered why Ori was suddenly as shy as ever, when Kíli answered with a breathless: “Aye!” And Fíli added, almost panting: “Thanks, Ori. You have to write it for us, this have been a good one. Sorry for…”

“No problem,” answered the scribe. It was not the first time their stories awakened these… feelings on the brothers. “I’ll set my bedroll here, to keep watch. So you can… be alone.”

“Thanks, fellow.” Fíli said.

And then there was silence in that part of the cave. The only noises that were heard were Ori setting up for sleep, and two fast breathings that were accelerating Bilbo’s pulse.

“Fíli,” moaned the younger brother.

“Shhh… or you’ll wake up our burglar,” whispered the blonde dwarf.

Kíli moaned: “Then touch me,” demanded. And Fíli must have obliged him, because he started to mutter in khudzul.

It was the most sensual thing Bilbo had ever experimented. He was hearing these erotic sounds, hard inside his pants and with his eyes tightly shut. Until Kíli screamed his brother’s name, and Fíli moaned loudly. Then Bilbo waited for them to stop the kissing and fall sleep, embracing himself in his loneliness. When all the breathing in the cave was even, he picked up his things and walked determinedly out.

“Where do you think you’re going?” said Bofur, who was on watch duty.

“Back to Rivendell.”

“No, no, ye can’t turn back now, ye’re part of the Company.”

“I’m not though, am I? Thorin said…”

“Don’t mind what he said, Bilbo, ye’re one of us. Haven’t ye heard Dwalin? He cares for ye. And old Balin. And the lads, especially Ori, he offered ye a story! Especially for ye! And I… Bilbo, I…”

A noise interrupted Bofur then. It was Thorin, who was standing up. He stood there, quiet, just glaring at the miner, who was returning his glare. Bilbo was just staring at the floor, ashamed because he had been caught trying to run away from the company.

Then the ground opened at their feet.

Bilbo sat close to Ori. The lad seemed to be the only one, apart from him, who was affected by the events they had lived in the Misty Mountains.

“Are you all right, laddie?” asked Bilbo. The scribe nodded with his shy smile.

Then Thorin sat beside the hobbit, startling him. The leader of the company had been by his side all day, after having embraced him significantly at the top of the Carrok. Which was weird, keeping in mind that before Bilbo had saved his life, Thorin was usually as far as he could be from the hobbit.

Even though Thorin’s companionship was all Bilbo would have asked for the day before, his continuous proximity was making him anxious. In spite of his great feat, he was the very same hobbit he had been yesterday, the same who had received a hard reprimand from the dwarf.

“You don’t need to tell a story tonight, Ori,” said Thorin. “Not after all…”

“But I want to do it!” yelled the scribe. His high-pitched voice attracted the attention of his brothers and the rest of the company, who also went to sit around the little fire Gandalf had lit. “Sorry, Sir. I’m fine, I was just plotting.” Thorin nodded and shifted his weight, accommodating himself closer to the hobbit. “Tonight I’m meeting the demand of an anonymous request.” The company cheered up, because usually, not wanting to give a name was sign of very naughty things to hide. Bilbo, who didn’t know that, noticed the change in Ori. Remembering last night, when the scribe offered a story even though he had a free night, Bilbo realized how much the lad loved his work.

“Who’s the chosen hero?” asked Nori with his usual wicked smile.

“Mister Dwalin,” answered Ori, falling back into his shyness.

Dwalin was delightfully surprised. He had asked for a story, and he couldn’t deny that he had showed off while he was speaking about his past conquests. But he couldn’t help it, not with the lad always worshipping him; not knowing how special Ori was to him. Unexpectedly, there had been no story for him, not even a short one. And now it seemed that someone else had asked for one about him especially…

“And who shall partner Mister Dwalin?” inquired Dori, glaring at the warrior. He still had not forgotten about the matter at the elves baths, where the Fundin’s son had showed too much interest in sharing his turn with little Ori.

“The story is in the first person, so that must remain anonymous too.” Dori grunted, but Ori ignored him and began the story: **“The camp is quiet, only disturbed by the occasional snores. After yesterday’s events, tonight the company is in need of a good rest. But I can’t sleep, and this time it’s not because of Bombur’s snores.”** There was laughter and catcalls. Bilbo looked at Bofur, who was sitting across the fire. They shared a private smile, and Bilbo felt more comfortable. **“I want to thank Mister Dwalin for letting me use his hammer down in the Goblin’s cave.”** Nori tried to meet his brother’s eyes, but Ori was staring at the fire. The thief knew so well _who_ had held the warrior’s hammer, because it was he that had given it to his little brother. Dori didn’t seem to notice the detail, because he was so busy glaring at Dwalin, who in turn had his eyes glued to Ori. **“So I stand up and approach him. Nobody has bedrolls or sheets, so I sit close to where he’s lying. My voice trembles when I say: ‘I want to thank you for letting me use your hammer.’ ‘You did it already, lad’ he answers me. ‘But not in the way I wanted to show my gratitude, Mister Dwalin’ I tell him. I’m relieved he can’t see my face in the dark, because I know I’m blushing pretty badly.”**

“Did you ask for that story?” inquired Fíli to his brother, whose head was lying on his lap.

“Me? No! Why do you think that?”

“You’re always: Mister Dwalin! Mister Dwalin!” Fíli complained.

“Are you jealous, Brother?” Kíli has a flirtatious smile.

“Be quiet, laddies,” Balin told them. The old dwarf was looking at his brother with a pleased face.

 **“I go straight for his breeches, my gaze fixed on the laces, for I don’t want to meet his eyes. I don’t know if he’s going to reject me.”** That was when Bilbo realized _who_ that anonymous requester was. It was impossible not to see the want in Ori’s eyes. **“But he doesn’t say or do anything, so I free his huge tool and engulfed him without finesse or subtlety. For now, I only want to show him my intentions, how serious I am. Suddenly I feel his hand on my head, an uncertain touch. I fear he’s going to pull my braids and reject me, but then his big fingers tangle up in my hair and I’m feeling the sweet caress of his fingertips on my scalp. I moan around his shaft.”** Dwalin was not the only one to groan at that, Bifur being the louder. Bilbo was all flushed, Thorin’s presence beside him a constant reminding of his desires. He used to hide next to Bofur, whose familiarity he trusted. But having Thorin so close while he was excited, listening to those heated words with that broad and firm body next to him... he couldn’t help but moan too. At that Thorin clenched his hands, trying to remain silent himself. **“Now that I’m sure he’s not going to turn me down, I can enjoy what I’m doing. I have a little expertise but I want to make him feel good. I lick his head; outlining his little slit with my tongue. Straight away I continue to lap all over his generous length. I know he’s so well endowed; even though I only had eyes for him I’ve compared him with the others when we all bathed in the river. But now I have him in my hands, in my mouth, my dream turned into reality. I can hear his fast breathing, and I know I’m as excited as he is. I stop the foreplay and suck him hard, trying to take as much of him as I can inside my mouth. He seems to like it, so I continue sucking him, moving my head up and down helped by his hand. He’s now holding my head strongly, and I’m enjoying it. But suddenly he grabs my hair and pulls me aside. I try to resist, and he ends up spending himself all over my face. I collect some of his seed with my hand and lick it clean, tasting him with eagerness. A moan gives him away; hence I know he’s seeing me despite the dark. He tries to fondle me through my breeches, but I don’t let him, I just wanted to give him thanks, and I enjoyed myself enough through his pleasure.”**

“No,” said Dwalin then, disconcerting Ori. And enraging Dori, who had not taken his eyes off him. “Finish… him.” Ori understood. He nodded, his face so blushed that it was noticeable even in the dark night.

**“But… but… he insisted so much, and I finally concede. I’m so… I’m almost done, so this is not going to last. His hand found its way into my underclothes, already wet from all the time I’ve denied relief to myself. The firm warmth of his hand around me makes me feel so dizzy; I let the weight of my body lie on top of him. Eventually my fluids stain his hand. He doesn’t waste time and cleans his fingers with his mouth, tasting my seed just like I tasted his. I can’t help but… kiss him. I taste myself in his tongue, and he tastes himself on mine. Shortly after I realize what I’ve done, but he notices my state of tension and tries to calm me with languid and sweet kisses. He achieves his purpose, for I fall sleep in his strong and welcoming arms.”**

The dwarves of the company gradually came out from the spell of the story. As always, the scribe was praised and thanked. But neither Ori nor Dwalin moved from their place. Dori, on the other hand, was one of the first to approach his brother. “I didn’t much like that _first person_ story, Brother. It makes things… too much personal for my tastes.”

“Aye, Dori,” said Ori, apologetic.

“Master Dori, would you be so kind to continue explaining to me your encounter with the Stone Giants?” Gandalf said, and of course Dori acquiesced, following him to a far rock the wizard insisted was perfect for his large size.

But then Ori was accosted by his other brother. “What are you playing at? Don’t deny me, I’m not Dori. I know who had his hammer; I, myself, gave it to you.”

Bilbo was about to stand up discreetly, but a hand of his wrist stopped him. Thorin looked down at him and shook his head. The leader of the company suspected that Ori hadn’t made a move to seek privacy because he was more comfortable with them supporting him with their presence. “I know what I’m doing,” replied Ori.

“You’re too young for him.” Nori moderated his harsh tone, surprised by his brother’s self-confidence.

“When you were my age…”

“You don’t know a thing about what my life was like back then.” Bilbo noticed Thorin tensed at Nori’s roughness. Dwalin stood at last and went around the fire until he was standing behind the thief. His face was not amused at all.

“Maybe that’s because you were never at home at those times,” said Ori with his typical kind tone of voice.

“Ori,” Nori changed again his mood, touched by his brother’s reproach. “He’s not good for you,” he stated, ignoring the dwarf at his back. “He’s a Longbeard, and you know the Durin’s Folk doesn’t mix with people like us. Neither is he Farin, nor you Dîm.”

Before Dwalin could interrupt them, Ori gazed at his brother with a pleading look. “Please, Nori, not you too. I’m sick of Dori having a say in who I can or cannot bed.” At that Dwalin growled, Bilbo didn’t know if it was caused by Dori’s having a hold over Ori, or if he was simply jealous.

“You know I have never controlled you, but… just not him, Ori. He’ll hurt you.” Dwalin growled thunderous at his back, but the thief had decided not to acknowledge him. He only had eyes for his brother, and he didn’t like what he saw in them, not at all. “Ori, is he your…?” The younger dwarf didn’t answer, but he conceded with his silence. Nori understood, and he knelt to embrace his brother. But he was not the only one who had heard that question. Bilbo looked at Thorin and found that the dwarf was looking at him in return. He said in a whisper: “Did you know it?” Thorin smiled lightly before muttering: “No. But I hoped.” Then he pointed his head at Dwalin. The warrior was staring in awe at the young scribe, who was still in his brother’s arms.

When Nori stood up soon after, he looked daggers at the bulky dwarf before giving him a little nod, without a hint of a smile in his face. Dwalin took his place right away and knelt facing his soulmate. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

“I thought I was not yours. Am I yours?” asked Ori, shy and hopeful. Dwalin nodded with a rewarding smile. “Since when…?”

“Ered Luin. You were a dwarfling, I saw you one day, at the market, and I just _knew_. You were with Dori. Your tunic was lilac, and you were holding a book against your chest. It was bigger than your little hands, but you didn’t drop it.”

“You didn’t tell me, either,” stated Ori. Dwalin chuckled. “Not when you had the chance, back at Mister Baggins home...”

“Not the appropriate time, laddie; with your brothers, the quest… and you’re so young…”

“No, I’m not.” Ori cradled Dwalin’s cheeks with his hands and kissed him tenderly.

Bilbo was ashamed to witness that private moment, but just then Thorin stood up. He followed him, but the dwarf only took two steps and stopped strategically, blocking the couple from Dori’s field of vision. Bilbo bumped into him, and they stayed there, their gazes fixed on each other while sensual kissing sounds reached their ears.

“I should go… or we’re going to attract attention to them,” said Bilbo. Thorin continued to stare at him, not giving an answer. So Bilbo went to his usual sleeping spot between Bombur and Bofur. He had no bedroll or sheets, so he wrapped himself up in his coat.

“Have they got together, finally?” asked Bofur, startling the hobbit, who thought he was already asleep.

“You knew?”

“I was not sure about Dwalin, one can’t know with these unbending warriors. But it was easier with the young scribe’s lingering gazes. Haven’t ye noticed?”

Bilbo shook his head. He just hoped he was being more subtle with certain dwarf…


	3. Chapter 3

The next morning Bilbo was woken up by screams and whines. When he opened his eyes he found that Bofur was already awaken, listening to the yelling in khudzul.

“What’s happening?” muttered Bilbo.

“Dori has found Dwalin’s coat covering Ori.”

“Well, at least he must have slept warm” Bilbo complained, still wrapped in his own coat.

“Are ye cold?” asked Bofur, getting closer to the hobbit.

“Burglar, are you going to lounge there all day long?” ranted Thorin. Bilbo closed his eyes for a moment. Well, that was to be expected. The day before had only been a break; Thorin Oakenshield still despised the halfling of the company. He smiled faintly. Actually it was better that way, Bilbo didn’t want to hold on to false hopes.

“Why? Have we any breakfast to cook?” asked Bofur cheekily.

Thorin gave him a majestic look of disdain.

“Bilbo! Come and walk with me.” Gandalf appeared then from nowhere and even Dori shut up. “We’re going to see someone who can help us, and it’s better if we go in pairs. The hobbit must accompany me,” said the wizard. And then he gave Thorin a murderous look.

Beorn, the _skin-changer_ , was kind enough to give them board and lodging.

Thorin found Balin sitting on the veranda and approached him. “Do you know where Ori is?” At Balin’s knowing smile, the prince added: “Don’t tell me he is with Dwalin. Dori’s going to be furious.”

“Aye, if he finds them. That’s why I’m here, on watch. If you really need the lad, they’re around the house. But I bet Dwalin will not like the interruption.”

“I bet not,” said Thorin with a devilish grin, clapping his old friend on the shoulder. And he went to meet the couple.

When he saw them… well, they were not exactly talking. Ori was straddling Dwalin’s legs, and his friend was kissing… no, he was devouring the younger dwarf’s mouth. His massive arms were embracing Ori, almost hiding his slimmer form. Thorin found the size difference between their bodies… inspiring to say the least.

The scribe jumped at the sound of Thorin clearing his throat. Then he tried to move to one side, but strong hands kept him in place. “Thorin” acknowledged the warrior.

“Dwalin. I was looking for Ori.”

“Well, he is here. You can talk to him,” stated Dwalin, with his arms still embracing his One; making clear that he was not moving away from his lap.

Thorin glared at his friend, but then he started to speak. “You know the halfling saved my life. He has proved worthy of… the company. I think it’s time for him to feel at home with us.” Ori’s eyes grow impossibly round, and Dwalin gave the prince a sidelong glance. “So… I thought you could tell a story for him; a story with one of the members of the company. Tonight. And Ori… I would like to remain… anonymous, like yesterday’s requester.”

The scribe nodded, astonished. He couldn’t believe Thorin Oakenshield had asked for a story for Mister Bilbo. But then Dwalin was kissing him again, and his mind melted.

Thorin could still hear their moans when he turned the corner of the house. He wondered how long it would be before Dori discovered them.

Gandalf asked the company to remain in Beorn’s Hall for the night, so the dwarves sat on the wood benches and waited for Ori’s story.

“Before I start, I would like to obtain full permission from Mister Baggins. Would you mind being the hero of tonight’s story?” he asked the hobbit, who was approaching them. 

“Seems fair, for I’ve listened to all of yours stories,” said Bilbo, looking especially at Glóin. After the encounter with the trolls, the dwarf consented to Ori telling a story about his wife in Westron in front of the hobbit.

“Then I’m going to tell a story requested by Bofur.”

Thorin didn’t like that. He had not wanted Bilbo to know he was the one asking for the story, but he liked even less that Bofur should get all the glory. He glared at him, horrified when the miner said: “Come here and sit with me, little bunny!” Bilbo slapped him on the back and complained at the use of the nickname that their host had chose for him. But he sat beside Bofur all the same, like he usually did. Thorin’s growl was lost in the dwarves’ laughs.

**“It was pouring down all day, and at night it was still raining. Bilbo Baggins was lying at his usual spot between the ‘Ur brothers. Bombur was already sleeping, judging by his snores. But Bilbo couldn’t get to sleep, and Bofur, so used to the hobbit’s breath pattern, knew it. ‘Can’t ye sleep?’ whispered the dwarf. ‘No. I’m soaked and frozen stiff, what do you think?’ answered Bilbo irritably. ‘Hey, fella, I’m as wet and cold as you are. Come here.’ Bofur opened his coat and covered the hobbit with one half, spooning behind him to give him more shelter. ‘Better?’ Bilbo purred into the coat, and Bofur chuckled. The rain was still falling over his head, but he was used to live on the road, at least more than the halfling was. Besides, he had his hat. Bilbo was still trembling, so he got closer to keep him warm. His arm encircled the hobbit waist; pulling the little body tighter against him. Then the heat became a problem, and not for the lack of it: Bofur was hard.”**

Then Bilbo just _knew_ Ori was getting there. And he found it so awkward to listen to a story between him and his dear friend Bofur, that he wished for the ground to open and swallow him whole. But the dwarf made things easier, as always, laughing and putting his arm over Bilbo’s shoulders. That way Bilbo could hide his flushed face in this friend’s chest. So the dwarf’s arm stayed there. And Thorin threw a silent fit.

 **“Bofur tried to distance himself from the tempting bum, that he so loved to watch when he was ridding behind Bilbo,”** Bilbo chuckled sceptically, **“but the hobbit was starting to get warm, and he sought his touch.”**

Bofur caressed Bilbo’s hair, reassuring the nervous halfling. But then he winked at Ori; he was enjoying the story so much, especially the way some dwarves were looking at him, jealous of the hobbit in his arms.

**“Bofur tried to move to one side, but Bilbo grumbled and moved closer to him. ‘Don’t move, now I’m quite warm, thanks to you’ he ordered. ‘Little bossy hobbit’ teased Bofur, tickling Bilbo. That was when the halfling noticed there was something hard on his bottom, and it was not Bofur’s mattock.”**

Catcalls and whistles made that Bilbo grabbed the dwarf’s coat and use it to hide his red face. Bofur was delighted, thinking about the similarities between the present situation and the story. Thorin, who thought the same, was glaring at the miner.

**Neither moved of said a word. The dwarf knew that it was likely he had offended Bilbo. But the hobbit… Actually he was more excited than outraged. So the small minx swayed his hips, rubbing his pert ass against Bofur’s rigid staff. The dwarf groaned loud, and his cousin said something in khuzdul that made him laugh. Bilbo didn’t understand a word, for he was so focused on that hard-on at his back.”**

Bilbo tried to hide more, and Bofur helped by raising his arms a bit and tightening them. “Stay calm, my friend. I know ye wouldn’t react that way,” muttered to him, knowing exactly how Bilbo would react in that case; insecure and anxious like a virgin would do it. And the dwarf would enjoy every second of it.

**“A wet hand untied the laces of his breeches and got inside his underwear. This time the hobbit was the one who moaned out loud. Then he began to move, forwards and backwards, pleasuring himself in the heat of Bofur’s fist. Even though it was difficult, Bofur finally succeeded in sliding his other hand beneath their bodies and grabbing a round buttock. Then he began to move at Bilbo’s pace, enjoying the friction that that pert bum was providing to his needy tool. The hobbit was the first to achieve relief, wetting Bofur’s hand with his seed. The dwarf didn’t mind getting his coat dirty, so he grabbed Bilbo’s hip with his stained fingers and rubbed his shaft furiously against the hobbit’s delectable ass, until he reached his own peak. The rain soon cleaned all evidence. Bilbo fastened his laces and spun around still inside Bofur’s coat. ‘Thanks’ he said, giving a chaste kiss to the dwarf’s satisfied smile. Then he nestled on his chest and, at last, he fell sleep.”**

Bilbo took a long time to move away from Bofur’s arms, but when he did he wasn’t blushed anymore. “Thanks, Ori. You did a good job, as always,” he said, praising the skilled scribe.

“Aye, thanks for the story!” added Bofur. “I enjoyed it very much.”

At the dwarves’ laughs and cheers, Bilbo blushed again. He stood up and went to the raised platform where the beds were stored. There was Balin, waiting for him. “Did you like your first story, laddie?” asked the older dwarf, making sure not to mention his previous _solo_ story. “If you want to… relax now, I can tell you another one, about the golden era of Erebor.”

Bilbo agreed, delighted. He loved a good tale, and Balin was as good a storyteller as Ori. The old dwarf sighed, relieved at the hobbit’s enthusiasm. If he could relate a long enough story and succeeded in making the hobbit fall asleep on the spot… maybe he would save Bofur’s life. Because Thorin was looking daggers at the miner, and he knew that, after such a suggestive story, the Durin prince bear to see him sleeping next to _his_ hobbit.

Thorin was looking for Ori again, the next day. The young scribe was on the veranda under the watchful eye of his oldest brother, although Dori let Ori go for a walk, just because Thorin was the one accompanying him.

“Didn’t you like yesterday’s story?” Ori said, fearing that their leader was cross with him. Thorin had only made three requests, and the scribe had endeavoured to do his best on each of them. But Thorin’s face was not pleased at all on that particular morning.

“It was… fine. But not what I had in mind when I asked you for a story which would praise our Burglar.” The scribe flinched, and the older dwarf put a hand on his shoulder. “The plot was not the problem, in fact it was quite satisfactory. The matter was your choice of dwarf. The miner is not… adequate to make Master Baggins feel welcome amongst the company.”

“Oh,” The reason for Thorin dislike of his story threw Ori off. “I thought Bilbo would be more at ease with Bofur, him being his best friend…”

“He’s not his only friend in the company. Someone admired and well-liked It should be more suitable. Someone regal, more… majestic.”

Ori understood then. But of course! Who was popular among the company? Who was regal and noble? And the most important… Who had been friendlier towards Bilbo from the very beginning?

Then a noise startled them. Thorin reached for Orcrist, but he let go the sword when he saw the big dwarf who was approaching them. Ori welcomed his One with a bright smile, and Dwalin wasted no time in kissing those sweet lips.

“Another request?” Asked the warrior then, with a knowing smile. He embraced the scribe’s back against his chest. Both lovers looked at the prince, waiting for his dismissal.

“Just one more thing,” said Thorin, trying to ignore the couple’s closeness. “I know you’re drawing portraits for the chronicle of the quest. I think it’s time for you to paint a likeness of our Burglar. And I’ll keep it with me,” he added finally, with determination.

Ori agreed with a nod, and waited patiently until they were alone to ask Dwalin: “Why does he fuss over the hobbit, now? At first I couldn’t even tell a story about him. And now…”

“He owes his life to Mister Baggins. That’s one of the strongest bonds between warriors. Thorin is a dignified dwarf of the line of Durin, and knows how to pay a debt. And now… can we take advantage of this time just for us?”

Ori kissed his answer onto Dwalin’s glad lips.

“I hope you have a good tale for tonight, Brother. After the farewell to Beorn’s home, to our wizard and to the helping ponies, we are in need of a good distraction,” said Dori.

“How about a threesome story?” The company answered with whistles and shouts of joy. “Well, so tonight I’ll tell you how Fíli and Kíli saved the quest convincing our Burglar to sign the contract, that first night in his… hobbit hole.”

The dwarves let out a lot of laughs and taunts. The brothers went to sit with the blushing hobbit, on either side of him.

The story was funny and spicy, but when Ori finished it and looked for Thorin’s approval, he couldn’t find him at all. And that was a strange thing, because he was the one to advise them about the danger of wandering alone in the dark forest…

There were no stories at Mirkwood; no stories, no food, no laughs or merriment. In the Forest of Great Fear there was only… fear and darkness. And, in the night, a coldness that froze their bodies and minds.

One evening, at the chattering of Ori’s teeth, Dwalin growled and stood up. The warrior grabbed his One and made him sit between his legs, where the little scribe disappeared under his large coat. Dori grumped, but Nori whispered something to him that calmed the oldest brother, at least for that night.

Bilbo was happy for Ori and Dwalin. But thinking about them together, sharing their body heat, made him realize how alone he was. Bofur and Bifur were with Bombur, taking care of the younger one in his lethargic condition after his fall into the river. So he was alone in the cold night, dreaming about his warm home and with a certain dwarf who would warm him better than his dressing gown if he only would let him share the heat of his fur coat… and his body.

Finally, the company arrived safe and sound at Laketown; almost everybody, because Bilbo had caught a cold whilst riding the barrels down the river. But the hobbit had missed Ori’s tales so much that he took a blanket and cuddled up next to his friend Bofur, awaiting for Ori’s story with the rest of the crowd.

“I know not everybody will like tonight’s story line, but Óin have asked for it weeks ago, so I hope you’re all in the mood for a male pregnancy story.”

Some of them groaned, and some acclaimed the plot. Bilbo’s voice was thin but quite audible despite the noise: “Can males dwarves get pregnant too?” The hobbit couldn’t help but ask, astonished.

“Too?” repeated the dwarves in unison.

Then the lounge broke out in yells and comments. Until Óin accosted Bilbo and the rest kept silent to listen closely. “Can male Hobbits bear a child?”

“Not every Hobbit. The Tooks have fairy-blood, due to a disgusting ancestor’s affair. From that day on, when two male hobbits… well, not a thing that happens often… but if one of them is a Took…”

“And are you?” Asked Óin, noticing how upset Bilbo was. 

“Am I what?”

“A Took.”

“Of course he is!” said Bofur. Bilbo had told him all kind of stories about his adventurous family. Then he remembered something more that his friend had confessed to him. The miner grabbed one of the hobbit’s hands and, ignoring the noisier dwarves, he said to him with an admiring and supportive voice: “Now I understand why you have remained a virgin, Bilbo.”

Suddenly there was a deadly silence in the room. The significant fact that Hobbits could get pregnant had been an incredible novelty that everybody had wanted to comment. But knowing that their burglar was a virgin… every dwarf was daydreaming in that very moment about putting his hands on that untouched body. All eyes were hungrily onto the hobbit, who was red and shamefaced. “I just… I’m sorry!” he said in a daze. Then he stood up swiftly on his hobbit’s feet and ran away from the room and its uncomfortable stares.

Bofur was about to run after his upset friend, but he found a hefty body stopping his way. “How did you know _that_?” asked Thorin with a demanding voice.

“He told me. He’s my friend, we talk, and I know his… stuff.” The miner knew teasing the prince in his agitated state was not a good idea, but he wanted to show his interest in Bilbo, especially now that everybody knew how special the hobbit was.

Balin, seeing how tightly Thorin was clenching his fists, proposed to the scribe: “Lad, I think a change of tonight’s plot is required. It would be more suitable to have a story about a Rite of Passage. What do you think, Óin?”

“Good idea, indeed! And I would suggest, given my knowledge and experience… that I would be a perfect master for Mister Baggins first intimate ceremony.”

“You’ll pardon me, Brother, but if experience is the matter, I’m more qualified than you. I’m a married dwarf, after all!” answered Glóin.

“I’m married too,” said Bombur, raising his voice for once.

Bofur couldn’t believe what he was hearing. His own brother trying to steal his hobbit from him! “Bilbo is my friend, I’m the one who’s going to get him!” he shouted, not stating if he was talking about the story or if his hopes were on something more _tangible_.

“Oh no, _you_ are not!” roared Thorin, sick to death of the miner’s claim over _his_ burglar.

“And why not? Ye don’t even like him! Everybody knows that!”

Bifur scowled at his cousin and protested in Khuzdul, his voice unusually lower. The rest of the dwarves started to scream their arguments, most of them supporting their own aspirations to be chosen by the scribe.

“Brother, you know I’m the best choice,” Dori was saying. “I would be gentle, and caring, and my great beauty…”

“Shut up! I’m really sick of your blasted beauty! I’m more experienced that you, with all your looks! And I liked the hobbit first! Suddenly you’re interested in Bilbo? Since when? Tell me!” roared Nori.

“Shazara!” Thorin voice resounded in the room, demanding silence.

Unfortunately, his nephews used that moment of calm to butt in: “Ori, our idea is the best, you’ll love it,” said Kíli.

“Aye, you can do two stories in one. My brother and I deflower the hobbit together, and then... he gets pregnant! At first he doesn’t know which one is the father…”

“Nobody is going to impregnate _MY_ hobbit!!!” yelled Thorin, unable to continue listening to the way his nephews were talking about Bilbo.

That time, the deadly silence lingered. Even some brains blocked because of the prince’s outburst. Of course the company had noticed the change in the way Thorin treated the hobbit after the Misty Mountains rescue, but most of them thought that was only for the sake of the debt of life.

Balin, who knew the depth of Thorin’s affections, even before his dear protégé was aware of them, chuckled and signalled Ori to begin the story. It was clear now who was going to be the one who would claim the hobbit, even if only for the night’s fiction.

The young scribe nodded at the older dwarf and smiled at his One, understanding now what had caused their leader to fuss over the hobbit. It was clear Thorin wanted to be the one who was paired with Bilbo, even when he hadn’t dared to ask for it specifically. And about the request for the portrait… Ori decided to draw another kind of portrait the very next day, one only for Thorin’s eyes.

**“Nobody knew the burglar was a virgin, until the company arrived to Erebor…”**

Bilbo Baggins was deep asleep in Thorin Oakenshield’s room, under the watchful eye of Thorin’s himself.

“… the Master of Laketown has come to an agreement about the boats, at last. Do you want to know more? Thorin?” Inquired Balin, smiling knowingly. The prince hadn’t been paying attention to his words ever since the hobbit fell sleep on top of maps and papers.

“Aye. The boats.” Thorin nodded gravely, but his head turned again to the other side, where golden hair was spread out on the table.

“Well, it’s almost supper time. It’s better that we end the meeting here,” said Balin. He stood up and nodded towards the door, hopping that the prince would look away from the hobbit for a moment to walk him to the door. “Will you take your dinner here?” asked the old dwarf, knowing well that it would happen that way, like every evening since the second day. Thorin had made sure he was close to the hobbit since the news about his fertility… and his virginity. He had insisted that the halfling attended all the meetings about the travel preparations, even though was not the first time that the poor lad had fallen asleep during one.

“Aye. Bilbo’s tired, here he’ll be more comfortable,” he answered, already at the door of his room.

“And alone,” added Balin. Thorin growled at the memory of all the company harassing _his_ hobbit, something that had been going on since that first night at Laketown. “You need to talk to him, laddie.” Balin’s heartfelt tone of voice had not a trace of complaint or mockery.

“Now is not the appropriate time. That… _issue_ has already disrupted the quest too much. And the company.”

“Aye, and it shall continue like this if you don’t intervene first. Laddie, it’s not just the company. If we succeed and reclaim Erebor, the mountain will soon be full of dwarves. And you know news spread like wildfire. Your people will hear about the halfling who helped the company of Thorin Oakenshield to reclaim their home. In spite of his lack of beard, they’ll know the hobbit is male; a male who can get pregnant. A virgin male…”

Thorin actually _howled_ at that. “I know! I know! Nobody will covet what is mine to claim!”

“But they’ll do it, laddie, if you don’t stake your claim first. Even some members of the company…”

“Don’t mention the miner, Balin…” warned Thorin, knowing well that the dwarf was trying to lure the hobbit away from him.

“Not only Bofur is interested, and you know it.”

“Yes, I know also about the thief. And his vain brother, and…”

“Talk to him, laddie. Listen to your old confidant. Now is the moment.”

Thorin nodded with respect when Balin winked at him before moving away, down the hall. He knew his friend was right, but the fear of rejection was stronger. Every time he thought about what he could lose… a true first touch, being the first to enter his body, the opportunity to sire an heir with his hobbit…

“Oh.” Thorin’s thoughts cleared when he returned to his room and found Bilbo awake, looking at the sheets on the table. His smile reassured him for a moment, but then he saw what the hobbit had in his hand: the portrait. Luckily it was the _safe_ one. But Thorin knew the other was under the rest of the papers. What was worst; under certain story that Ori had transcribed for him, and he forgot to hide after reading it, like he was doing every night without fail, to inflame his night dreams. “You’re awake.” Even though they were talking more these days at Laketown, Thorin was still uncertain when they were alone.

“Yes, it seems I dozed off again. I’m sorry.”

“Don’t worry, Balin finished not long ago. He’ll ask the man to take our supper here, if you are amenable…” he asked, like every evening, expecting a negative and hoping for an _aye_.

Bilbo nodded, and his shy smile got wider in answer to Thorin’s. “It’s me. The portrait,” he said, rising the parchment in his hand.

“Aye. Ori made it, for the chronicle of the quest,” he answered fast; hoping that Bilbo wouldn’t ask him why his portrait in was Thorin’s room.

“The chronicle!” Bilbo ogled the papers, and Thorin gulped. “I’m eager to read this. Could you please read it to me?” he asked, holding out the story.

“Me?” asked Thorin, astonished. But he didn’t hesitate for long in grabbing the sheets of paper, and fearing that the naughty picture would appear between the pages.

“Well, I can’t really read Khuzdul. And I miss listening to Ori’s stories. We could make time until dinner. But if you prefer…”

“No. No, I’ll read it to you,” agreed Thorin, and decided to make up a different story for him. Even if it was only to prevent Bilbo from thinking about going down with the others to listen to the scribe. He knew well what kind of stories they were asking for, every blasted time. The problem was… that Thorin was not Ori. He stared at the words on the parchment trying to sort his ideas, but it was not easy to create a story from scratch, even when he had lived through the very events that he was to explain. Then he remembered Balin’s words. Why not confess now, with that particular story in his hands? “It’s not the Chronicle of the quest.”

“It’s not?”

“No. It’s one of Ori’s stories.”

“Oh.”

“I requested this one especially. The first night at Laketown.”

“I understand,” said Bilbo wretchedly, but without any fuss.

“No, you really don’t.”

“I know how they look at me after that night. All because I’m… inexperienced.”

“For me it’s not the same, Bilbo. I cared for you before knowing that.”

“Since Azog,” he stated, sadly.

“No; since the beginning. Even before that moment. Bilbo, you know we dwarves have soulmates, don’t you?”

“Yes. Bofur told me about them.”

Thorin gritted his teeth for a moment. “I knew I was about to find mine even before I met him. Just when Gandalf said to me that he had found a burglar for the company… I had dreamed for years about those runes on your door.” Thorin confessed that without looking up at Bilbo. When he finally did it, he realized the hobbit was as incredulous as expectant. And that raised his hopes.

“Me?”

Thorin stood up and approached Bilbo, kneeling in front of his chair. He put his hands in the small knees, caressing them with his rough hands. “You.” The prince met the hobbit’s eyes, trying to convey feelings that he couldn’t explain with words. He smiled at Bilbo’s beaming. In his bliss, he lifted his head to him, expecting to join his lips with the hobbit.

But then… Bilbo’s face changed. “You knew, from the beginning. And you despised me. Even knowing I was your…”

“No, no, I have never despised you. It’s just… I wasn’t expecting a halfling. All my life I had thought that being a burglar, my One would be more…”

“Yes. I know I’m hardly burglar material. I suppose that’s what you thought about me; a hobbit, a grocer… you were ashamed of your One.” Bilbo stood up and turned his back to Thorin.

The dwarf was devastated, the rejection being more painful than he had thought. But he had no words to justify his behaviour; he couldn’t deny he had fought against his destined One because he had found him useless and undeserving. He went back to his chair and rested his head on his hands, letting the cascade of his hair cover his face. Thorin noticed Bilbo’s movement and he supposed the hobbit was going to leave the room to meet the others downstairs. On the contrary, he felt the small hands remove his hair from the table, with a light touch that made him shiver.

“Read it to me,” insisted the hobbit. Thorin looked up at him frowning. Bilbo pointed to the khuzdul runes before going to sit next to him, where Balin had sat that same evening. From that place he stared at the dwarf, his arms crossed. But Thorin found a certain soft spot in his eyes that made him start to read without any complains.

 **“Nobody knew the burglar was a virgin, until the company arrived to Erebor, and that certainly was a problem. Whilst the scent of Hobbit was unknown for the dragon, Smaug would certainly recognise the distinctly smell of a virgin. So Bilbo needed to be deflowered before going into the dragon’s den. All members of the company offered their services to the hobbit…** ” Thorin ignored the paragraph where the dwarves tried to entice his burglar. **“… but Mister Baggins had made his decision already, by the way he was gazing at the leader of the company. Thorin nodded at that requesting look and took the small hand in his, following the rulebook of a Rite of Passage. There would be not ritual bath or ceremonial surrender in the presence of a crowd, but the company did its best to offer what little they had in these conditions. Dwalin found a room that was not totally ruined, and they cleaned it the best they could. Ori contributed with soft wool to clean the virgin’s body, and Óin provided a little bottle of oil. Then the company left the room, one by one congratulating the blushing hobbit before showing their gratitude to their prince for his civic service. Once they were alone, Thorin proceed to disrobe the halfling, taking what little time they had, for the dwarf had noticed how shy and nervous Bilbo was. Without almost any body hair on that pale body, except for his feet, it was easier to clean him with the wet wool, letting his fingertips caress that soft skin at the same time. The hobbit was soon as clean as Thorin’s patience allowed him without skipping a step of the ceremony. Then Bilbo was carried to the bed, which creaked frighteningly under his weight. But Thorin was too concentrated to pay attention to the state of the furniture, and the hobbit was frightened by other reasons. Despite his fear and anxiety, Bilbo was beginning to react to his Chosen’s touch. His shaft was growing slowly, heavy against his left thigh, making him aware of his instinctive desires. He closed his legs on impulse, but Thorin didn’t let him retreat to his previous state. The dwarf forced his legs open gently and knelt between them to study every reaction of that inexperienced body.”** Thorin made a pause and met Bilbo’s eyes, finding in them the same lust he was feeling. It was so different to read that story aloud, even more when his object of desire was so close, listening to him saying those things about themselves. He took a deep breath, moistened his dry lips with the tip of his tongue, and continued: **“The smaller body was trembling faintly, more from anticipation than fear now. Thorin’s fingertips were tracing complicated runes on his skin, ascending for his legs up to his navel, still not touching the gift that was now fully hard and ready. The dwarf noticed that Bilbo was breathing more heavily, and he took a new step on the ritual: oral stimulation.”** Thorin stood up and took off his jacket, trying not to look at Bilbo. He was sweaty and hard and uncomfortable, and he only wanted to ravage _his_ One, not read a story where he was not acting like he would actually do. But if Bilbo wanted to listen to that story, he would read it for him, even with that noteworthy hardness in his pants. **“At first, the hobbit only felt the caress of his long hair, then came the wet feeling of a tongue moistening the outline of his hipbone. Thorin would have loved to have time to tease that body the way it deserved, but time was another thing they lacked, together with water, some delicatessen, or the finest jewels to dress that pure body like it merited. So he kissed away their scarcity, hoping that once the mountain was reclaimed, the hobbit would let him continue with that sacred ritual, that time without skipping any delectable ceremonial step. His mouth showed Bilbo a new kind of sensation, one more sensual and intense, that left him on edge. His slender hips moved up on reflex, wanting more without knowing precisely what. Thorin granted him his desire. He lapped a trail along his hard-on and sucked his purple head with care and devotion.”** Thorin dampened his lips again, and closed his eyes for a moment to avoid Bilbo’s eyes. **“He was eager to taste his virgin lover’s seed, but he didn’t surrender to that craving, for they couldn’t wait Bilbo to recover. So he kissed down below, licking his stones and beyond them, towards that puckered hole that nobody… ever…”** Thorin brushed his wet hair aside from his forehead, wondering how by Durin’s beard Ori was capable of telling those things without even changing the tone of his voice. **“… had ever seen it. That delicious treasure was only for the King’s eyes, for his hands and his hammer, his to breach and…”**

“Mine to reclaim,” stated Thorin out of context, almost moaning the possessive pronoun. Ori had known how to inflame him with the royal title, but now the prince only craved to own his One. He was relieved to see the same fervour in Bilbo’s eyes. The hobbit was also soaked; damped straw-coloured locks were stuck to his face and pointed ears. Thorin clenched the sheets in his hands, fighting his need for defiling that untainted body there and then. **“… and consummate the ritual to its sweet conclusion. Thus, Thorin grabbed the little bottle Óin had offered him and poured the viscous liquid all over his One’s perineum, letting it trickle and soak his tight hole. He played with his fingertip in that little pool, increasing the pressure and force until he was two knuckles deep inside. His main goal was to deflower that sealed rosebud, but that small step made him roar in triumph. The hobbit moaned his surrender, clenching his tight tunnel around that bold digit. That was enough to burn Thorin’s patience. His mouth returned eager to work on that needy erection, tasting how excited was Bilbo now. Meanwhile, his finger hadn’t stopped its enjoyable task, breaching his entrance, waiting for it to be dilated enough to give him suitable shelter and…”**

A knock on the door startled them. Thorin reached for Orcrist, still used to the journey’s high level of alert. But then Bilbo said: “Dinner.”

The dwarf opened the door and saw a young man with a tray of food. Thorin hated to look up at men, so he let the young one enter and stepped aside to try to fix his appearance. He knew he was dishevelled and sweated, not to mention the noticeable bulge in his pants. Unfortunately, the man had noticed both their looks and was smiling knowingly, irritating the dwarf to the limit of his patience. And things got worse when Bilbo —always the obliging hobbit— started to clear the table, offering the bald-faced a good perspective of his rear. Thorin was sure Laketown people didn’t know how genuinely _special_ the hobbit was, but he knew they adored the peculiar halfling, and that particular man had ogled enough for that night.

“Leave the tray on the floor and get out,” he said harshly, straighting up with his dwarf’s pride. The man nodded and followed suit quickly, knowing well the famed bad temper of the Dwarves. When he was gone, Thorin’s possessiveness got the better of him and made him grab Bilbo’s wrist forcefully, preventing the hobbit from continuing to set the table. “Leave that,” he said in his deep voice.

“Don’t you want to have dinner now?” he asked, confused.

“No.”

“No?” repeated Bilbo, trying to focus his eyes on the ones who were staring at him so close up. “Do you want to continue reading?”

“No, I don’t want that either. I just want to… explain about that accursed story, in Mahal’s name!” Thorin let go of Bilbo’s wrist to push aside the sheets of paper on the table. Then the second portrait was suddenly on display. The dwarf groaned at his bad luck. Bilbo was really astonished; he stared at that picture of himself, sprawled on a bed, nude, visibly excited… but what made him blush the most were the long and dark strands of hair that fell down his legs, obviously belonging to a certain dwarf that was supposedly… kissing his way up his own legs. The hobbit shivered. “Bilbo,” continued Thorin, trying to reclaim his attention. “I would never… act that way in your first… while you… Oh, by my beard!” he exclaimed, annoyed by his lack of eloquence. He walked around the room to catch his breath and organize his thoughts. “Your Rite of Passage would be no obligation for me. Not the way our people see that ceremony.” He came to a halt, facing the wall with his back to Bilbo, and continued his speech: “I would treasure every moment, every second; because you would be mine not only for me to teach you —to tutor you in the art of sex— you’d also be mine to keep. I’d be your first, the one who should open you to the pleasures of the body, but I’d be your last lover too. I would be aware in every blasted second that nobody, ever, should see or touch your body but me.” Thorin turned around and looked intensely at the hobbit’s dilated pupils. “My _One_ ,” added soothingly. He approached Bilbo, daring to caress his red cheek with the back of his hand. “I shouldn’t have fought what my heart felt when I first saw you, I’m sorry for having rejected our link from the beginning. But try to understand me, what would you have thought if I’d confessed to you feelings that I didn’t comprehend myself yet? You would had fled from that mad dwarf,” Thorin chuckled, with his half smile.

“I would not have done such a thing,” said the hobbit gloomily. “Maybe we Hobbits haven’t got soulmates, but I fell for you since the moment you entered my house like you owned it,” confessed Bilbo, apologetically and shame-faced.

Thorin was majestically shocked at hearing those words. The Durin prince even _gasped_. Such revelation changed his approach; knowing that the hobbit reciprocated his feelings changed _everything_.

He hurried along to his intended, no more hesitation in his mind. He took those lips that were his to claim. So many nights dreaming about that very moment and the real thing was matchless. In truth his One was perfect for him. Old tales only scratched the surface of what really was that first connection with his other half. “Bilbo,” he groaned. “ _Âzyungâl._ ” He was yearning for more than kisses, but he forced himself to contain his lust and revel in the soft touch of those lips that fit perfectly against his own. “That’s _zigrul_. Mahal certainly made you measured for me. You’re perfect.”

“Big-headed dwarf! Yavanna is who care for Hobbits, not Aulë!” complained Bilbo breathlessly. But a pleased smile escaped from his swollen mouth.

Thorin took his very own hobbit in his arms and sat him on the table, where he accommodated himself between his legs without breaking their embrace. Now that their height difference was solved, he proceeded to kiss his pout away, thoroughly and eagerly.

[](http://s1253.photobucket.com/user/sra_danvers/media/1068_1000.jpg.html)

“Then Mahal asked his queen for a halfling for one of his sons. It works the same at the end, for I have a custom-hobbit made just for me,” he teased, with a final peck to that turned-up nose.

“Don’t be silly,” whined Bilbo. “I bet you were not happy with Aulë’s choice the moment you found your burglar was a simple hobbit.”

“Not _simple_ at all, my hobbit. And don’t think about that again, maybe I was wrong at first, but soon I saw the value in you. Your courage, your loyalty and your wisdom,” said Thorin, reassuring Bilbo. His fingertips were outlining his cheeks in awe, wondering how he had come to love those smooth features, so different from his people’s distinctive ones. “Those traits are very esteemed in a consort, you know. Tell me, _âzyungâl_ , will you stay at Erebor by my side? When the mountain has been reclaimed, will you bond with your King?”

“Aye,” agreed Bilbo without hesitation, having dreamed of that moment a few times before.

The sealing kiss was overwhelming for Bilbo. Thorin devoured his consent like it was a physical thing. The dwarf’s tongue reclaimed his mouth roughly and demanded an equal reaction, leaving the inexperienced hobbit out of breath. Noticing the tightness in his lover’s shoulders, Thorin lightened up the kisses until his One was pliant again in his arms.

Bilbo suddenly giggled, his blushing face hidden on the curve of his love’s neck. “I dreamed about… _this_. While Ori was telling his stories, I was always dreaming about you. I thought myself worthy of you; I loved to imagine you were proud of me. I even dared to dream of a future where I’d carry your young ones.” The hobbit giggled a bit more, ashamed of his silliness.

Thorin, on the contrary, was serious and grave. These words inflamed in him an intense feeling of protectiveness and possessiveness that not even their first kiss had stirred. Just thinking about his One heavy with child ruined his restraint. Finally he had _his_ burglar in his arms, nothing could go wrong from now on. And he was going to bask in it.

He got closer to Bilbo, until his thighs met the edge of the table. While he distracted the hobbit’s attention with sweet kisses, his hands roamed the smaller torso, delighted to feel the warmth of his skin through the light linen fabric. Thorin leered when he remembered that it was himself who had ordered that very new change of clothes to the merchants of Laketown. He had already begun to provide for his One, and that idea thrilled him. His kisses turned deeper and his hands daring; his fingers begun to play with the buttons of the linen shirt, concealing his true aim to unbutton them. Soon each one of them was freed, one by one, with skilled and sneaky effort. When Bilbo perceived the cold air on his skin it was already too late; his chest was on display for Thorin’s hungry eyes. The hobbit gasped when two calloused thumbs brushed both nipples.

Bilbo’s face was blushing; eyes tightly shut and mouth sensually open. The vision before him inflamed the dwarf’s lust. He took pleasure in the sight of that arched back and that smooth pale torso. And to think that he had feared once that a hobbit’s body wouldn’t appeal to him… the lack of chest hair was certainly not a detriment, all that smooth skin was tempting him more than the bushy bearded dwarves he had favoured all his life. But that was a thing of the past, now he had his One, his virgin and fertile hobbit. He bit the slender neck determinated to leave a visible mark on that pale skin. Thorin wanted all Laketown to know that the halfling had been claimed, especially the members of his company, who knew full well Bilbo had been untouched before that night. And he was going to touch and mark him thoroughly, so he would enjoy Bofur’s face when the miner realized that the hobbit finally was entirely Thorin’s.

Overwhelmed by these new sensations, Bilbo reacted closing his arms around his dwarf; burying Thorin’s face in his naked chest. All that hair caressing his body made him shiver noticeably, enticing his lover to keep stroking him with his bearded cheeks. Soon his lips and tongue took part too, kissing and tasting the hobbit’s torso; paying special attention to his erect nipples.

“I’m going to ravish you,” groaned Thorin, without stopping his feverish licking.

Bilbo gasped and tensed up. “Do it,” he agreed shyly, with his eyes closed.

Thorin suddenly called a halt to his passionate assault and demanded: “Look at me, Bilbo. I’m not going to do anything you don’t want me to do,” he said seriously even though he was breathless.

“But I want you! I’m just a little anxious, that’s all. Don’t you want to have me? As Ori said in _that_ story…”

“No, there will be not Rite of Passage, not for you. We will not make a ceremony of your first time. We’ll wait until we are bonded, as it is proper for hobbits,” declared Thorin, who wanted to honour the way of life of his intended’s people.

“We are not in the Shire. I don’t want to wait. What if something goes wrong in the mountain? Then we will never have the chance to…”

“Nothing will go wrong,” stated Thorin sharply, reminding Bilbo of those times when the prince treated him with disdain. But this time gentle hands were playing with his locks, trying to reassure him. “I promise you all will be fine in the end. We will reclaim Erebor. We will bond and you’ll be my consort, _mahâysîth_. I promise you.” These words were said like a prayer, for Thorin wanted to believe himself in that happy ending. “Now just let me have a little taste of you,” he asked, his thumb caressing the hobbit’s fleshy lower lip. Bilbo opened his mouth meekly and the dwarf make the most of the offer putting his tongue inside obscenely. The kiss was wet and dirty, and both melted into it. “Bilbo,” moaned Thorin. “ _Âzyungâl_.” He grabbed his lover’s butt and pushed the hobbit’s against his eager crotch. Bilbo gasped deeply and his hands gripped the dwarf’s shirt. “That’s it, my love. Grant me consent, let me pleasure you for the first time.” Thorin was swaying his hips while his fingertips were brushing a sensitive nipple. He hinted a cunning smile at the loud whine. “You need to tell me, Bilbo. Tell me you’re sure you want me now.”

“Yes, yes… I want you. Now. I’m yours, Thorin.”

“Aye!” roared the prince ecstatically. He hoisted his one up and carried him toward his bed. Once there he proceeded to undress him completely, no more words of consent needed. “You’re delectable,” he said in awe, admiring the nude form in front of him. Bilbo was furiously blushing, but he made an effort not to close his eyes. He was lying face up; his legs were open, his knees bent and the soles of his feet securely placed on the mattress. He felt so exposed that his flush spread out through his neck too. Thorin found that charming, and couldn’t help to nibbling at one reddened collarbone. That smooth skin was like the finest delicacy for him. Mahal was wise and generous, for he gifted him with his perfect match: Yavanna’s son was naught of what he had feared at first, and more than he had dared to hope later. His forms were small and soft, nothing like the dwarvish physique, nonetheless he was most touchable and responsive.

Thorin feasted on all that tender flesh, rubbing his face against the warmth body and eliciting out delicious sounds from it. Moans and gasps that nobody had heard before. That idea inflamed his possessiveness and moved him to bite a pale shoulder hard.

“Ow! Are you going to eat me?” joked Bilbo, trying to ease his nerves. But then Thorin looked hungrily up at him and his greedy smile made him shiver.

“I might do it,” he answered, with a seductive tone of voice. “And you would love it.” His forefinger tip travelled across the hobbit’s body, from his left shoulder to his navel; then stopped his way. “Has anyone ever touched you _there_?”

“You know the answer to that impolite question,” said Bilbo, embarrassed and slightly annoyed.

“I want to hear it from your lips,” he demanded.

“I suppose my mother…” began the hobbit, playing the fool in order to fight his bashfulness.

“Don’t play with me, Sanakhûn,” Thorin warned sternly. His finger poked the little belly button teasingly. “Tell me, has your virile member been touched by anyone besides your own hand?”

“No. Nobody has ever touched me _there_. Nobody has seen it but you…” confessed Bilbo, knowing well what his prince wanted to hear.

“And I’m going to be the only one touching it too.” His hand went down and closed around the hard shaft. The hobbit’s body arched, his hips lifting from the mattress. “I’ll never forget your reaction to my first touch, âzyungâl. Now try to hold back a little, because I don’t want to miss your face when you reach orgasm by my hand. But first I want to taste you.”

Bilbo’s howl was so loud that surely it must have been heard downstairs. And Thorin was thrilled by it. He fervently worshiped his One’s erection, knowing what his lips and tongue were doing for Bilbo, discovering for him a new world of sensations. Soon little hands were pulling his braids, trying to stop his enthusiastic work. “Thorin, please. I can’t…”

Thorin kneeled on the bed and went on stimulating his hobbit, now with his hand. His eyes were fixed on the blushing face, etching the moment in his mind. “Let go, my love. Spend yourself on my hand, âzyungâl.”

Bilbo obeyed, mainly because he could restrain himself no more. He couldn’t help but shout in his release, overwhelmed by the most intense orgasm he had ever felt.

The sight of his one’s coming apart unleashed Thorin’s want. He squeezed himself through his trousers, still gazing longingly at the exhausted hobbit. He untied his laces absent-mindedly and took out his huge hard shaft, satisfied at hearing Bilbo’s gasp. But then his halfling marvelled him one more time, tilting his head to one side and opening shyly his mouth in clear offer. The dwarf didn’t think it twice; he knelt close to his hobbit’s tempting face and lowered his erection until the very tip brushed his lover’s lips. Bilbo stuck out his tongue and licked away the little pearls of seminal fluid that were moistened the purple head. Thorin grabbed the honey curls to make him stay still and began to move his hips carefully, fascinated by the image of his hammer disappearing inside that sweet mouth. Bilbo didn’t remain passive at all. He was motionless, for fear of choking on that enormous pole, but he was trying to suck every time Thorin retreated, and wriggled his tongue when the hardness was deep inside his mouth.

It didn’t take long for the dwarf to reach his point of no return. He took his shaft in hand and stroked himself frantically, with his other hand still in Bilbo’s hair to keep his mouth barely out of reach, just close enough to feel that soft touch on the tip of his erection. He shot his seed aiming at these smooth cheeks, painting them with his release.

When he got over his bliss he collected some of it with a fingertip and offered it to Bilbo for to taste it. The heated moan around his finger made Thorin lower his eyes. The sight of his One fully hard once more bewildered him.

“You’re excited.”

“I can’t help it, _you_ are so exciting” he confessed, still lapping seductively at his finger.

“But… you’re excited. Again.”

“Is it that a bad thing?” asked Bilbo. He feared he had done something wrong inadvertedly.

“Not bad, just unheard of. I couldn’t… perform again, not for a while. Not a single dwarf could!” he added, aggravated. “Are you not satisfied?”

The hobbit smiled tenderly, noticing the insecure tone in his lover’s voice. He got up and kissed his dwarf, ignoring the mess on his face. “I assure you I’ve never been so pleased in all my life. It’s just that… you know, we hobbits are gluttonous creatures.”

“And how do you know that?” he required suspiciously.

“Because I’m a hobbit, after all. And maybe I’m inexperienced, but you know, I live alone. I have spent so many lazy Sunday mornings in bed…” Thorin stared at him, not getting the point at all. “Well, one starts to… pleasure himself and… uses that as excuse to do not get out of bed until he’s utterly exhausted and can’t stand up at all.”

“How long? How many times?” he asked, intimidated.

“One day I stayed in bed until elevenses, if you must know. I had spent myself five times in a row. Although I was younger, then, and I was so bored because my prize-winner tomatoes… Thorin?”

“Don’t move,” he said before standing up and hunting things around the room. He brought the dinner tray to bed, and also picked up Ori’s story. He undressed before sitting against the bedhead with a cloth in his hand. He urged Bilbo to sit between his legs, and the hobbit blushed again —even after all they had done— when he felt Thorin’s warm and soft flesh accommodating against his buttock. Then he felt the cloth cleaning his face and navel, and he relaxed his back against that hard and hairy chest. It was fantastic to be cared for in that lovely way, and his bliss was complete when Thorin began to feed him with his own hand, sharing the food with him in between hot kisses. The dwarf obscenely licked the juices that run down his chin. His other hand reached between his legs, and began to pleasure him without stopping his feeding. Soon he spent himself again. “Second round,” said Thorin with a proud smile.

“What are you doing?” Bilbo asked breathlessly.

“Testing.”

“Testing what?” squeaked the hobbit.

But Thorin didn’t answer. He was too busy cleaning again his One again, touching him with teasing strokes, trying to make him grow hard again, as if he was a toy that needed winding up. The small —compared to Thorin’s— penis didn’t react so soon this time, but the dwarf didn’t desist. He put the tray aside and picked up the story, knowing how hearing those words had excited Bilbo before. He searched for the passage, and continued where he had been interrupted by the man. **“Meanwhile his finger hadn’t stopped its enjoyable task, breaching his entrance, waiting for it to be dilated enough to give him suitable shelter and looking for that sweet spot that would melt the hobbit without doubt. Thorin caressed that tight tunnel until he found the satisfying gland. The hobbit screamed loudly at the intense pleasure,”** he stopped the reading to ogle over the shoulder of his lover. His smile was wide and smug, at the sight of the hard shaft nestled on sweet golden curls. Thorin took that exquisite length in his hand and begun to stroke him again, kissing his neck before continuing with his reading: **“so loud that the rest of the company, who were on watch at the door, heard him. They exchanged heated looks between them, imagining what their king must be doing to the virgin halfling.”** Bilbo moaned at that, and Thorin bit his shoulder with possessiveness and speeded up the movement of his hand. **“Inside the room, however, dwarf and hobbit were only paying attention to the Rite; Thorin to the heat and pressure he was feeling around his finger, and Bilbo to the thrilling internal caresses. Both of them enjoyed every second until there were three fingers preparing that previously untouched passage. ‘I’m going to take you now,’ said the king, all the desire he was feeling clear in his voice. The hobbit just nodded, too ashamed by his own eagerness to beg for more, and too nervous to actually ask for something he feared a little. So he obeyed blindly when Thorin asked him to get on his hands and knees. He offered himself obscenely, his head buried on the soft pillow and his ass up in the air, waiting to be breached for the first time. His fears proved then to be unjustified, because his body opened almost without resistance, like soft wood stabbed by a red hot sword in the forge,”** Thorin moaned the last word, before dropping the parchment and grabbing his One by the chin, forcing his head to the side to kiss him roughly.

“Thorin… please… I’m so close… keep reading for me…” he requested, almost purring.

The prince chuckled and bit his upper lip, but obliged and reached for the sheets of paper. “Naughty hobbit, such a greedy creature you are,” he said, with a pleased smile that belied his complain. **“Bilbo screamed his ecstasy when Thorin hit the right spot on the first thrust.”** “Have you ever touched your sweet spot, “ _âzyungâl_?”

“No!” yelled the hobbit, outraged.

Thorin roared his complacency. “Fine! I’ll be the first to rouse your most intimate pleasure. You don’t know how much I covet the moment I finally am allowed inside of you.” Bilbo moaned, and the dwarf knew he was very close indeed. **“First the pace was slow and light, but soon Thorin couldn’t help but pushing deeper and frantically, driven wild by that tight hot…”**

The dwarf stopped when he felt the wetness on his hand. This time he had missed the blissful face of his lover, but the realization that he had brought his One to completion again, with his hand and his deep voice, was enough. For now. “Third time.”

“Stubborn… dwarf,” complained the hobbit, out of breath. “When are you going… to stop this madness?”

“When you beg me for mercy. When your body is the one to tell me no more. And you’re lucky I want to wait for your first time, because, were you mine already, I would stay inside of you until you spent yourself more than five times. I can’t allow anybody to give you more pleasure than me. Even yourself. And you know, maybe dwarves can’t get hard again so easily, but we have a remarkable stamina. I can spend _hours_ hammering into you…”

Bilbo groaned. Thorin smiled. His voracious hobbit was hard again.


	4. Epilogue

On the bed lay a sumptuous tunic and a belt set with precious stones. Bilbo was already nude, staring at the formal clothes. He didn’t even know how to begin to get dressed. And that was the _simple_ outfit, Dís had been so kind that morning helping him to put on the ceremonial clothes for the wedding, as well as training him in dwarvish protocol. Now that he was already Thorin’s Oakenshield consort, he was more relaxed. But nonetheless he wanted to make a good impression when he arrived to the wedding reception.

He squeaked when the door was opened. “Thorin! I’m in the nude!” he shrieked and tried to cover himself, until his husband took his hands and moved them away his groin.

“You don’t need to hide from me, âzyungâl.”

“But the guards behind the door…”

“They know not to look at my consort, at the risk of a death sentence.”

Bilbo cackled, but stopped when he saw Thorin’s severe look. “Are you serious?” he asked, astonished. His husband ignored him, cradling his face and caressing his lips. “Thorin, you should not be here, should you? You need to receive the main guests to the ceremonial banquet.”

“Balin’s standing in for me. I could not care less about those old ravens,” said the King. His hands wandered around the nude body of his One.

“But Thorin…” squeaked the hobbit, when a fingertip teased his nipple. “You need to grace Dáin, and Lord Kheram, and…”

“No, I don’t _have_ to. You have not heard the things they said about you. That bunch of disrespectful gossipers has been questioning me all week about our sex life. Or lack of it. They wanted to know if I… if I have used you for the first time already.” Bilbo gasped. “Don’t worry, I didn’t say a thing. But the way they were looking at you today… you were so gorgeous in your dwarvish attire. I need to have you _now_ , Bilbo.”

“Now?” he asked, befuddled. He had thought so much about what would happen that first night. He was not prepared to rush things, even when Thorin was so gorgeous in his blue wedding clothes.

“Now. Tonight we’ll have time; I’ll make you come four times before spending myself inside of you. And then I’ll make you come again, three times more at least; I want to break my own record pleasuring you. Now let me posses you for the first time,” he begged passionately.

“But you can’t be away for too long. They’ll know!”

Thorin smirked. “Aye, I hope so. Stay still.” He took the tunic and the belt and placed them on the armchair closer to the bed, on top of his previous outfit. Then he went to their bathroom.

Bilbo was puzzled when he saw the wet sponge he was carrying. “Is it part of the Rite of Passage?” he asked, insecure.

“No. It’s just… he touched you,” explained Thorin, already scrubbing his neck and collarbone.

“He touched me? Who touched me?”

“That blasted elf! He dared to put his hands on you!”

“Stubborn dwarf! Ouch! Don’t scour me so hard! He was only admiring the jewel you insisted I wore on my neck!”

“It’s yours to show it for you found the Arkestone for me. My two jewels together, there are no greater beauties in all of Middle Earth. Where is it? Where is the Arkestone?” he asked, roughly.

“On the bedside table, in its jewel case,” answered Bilbo, who had been tired of carrying that weight hanging from his neck. He sighed when Thorin went to take it from the decorated box. “Sometimes I wonder which of both jewels you love more…”

“I love you more,” said Thorin, putting the gold chain around his One’s neck. “But I’m proud of my family’s legacy.”

“And aren’t you proud of me?”

“You know well you’re my best source of pride. Thanks to your wisdom my people have their home. Thanks to your courage I’m alive. And thanks to your diplomacy with men and… _those_ elves, we all survived that terrible battle. So stop begging for compliments and deny me no more what is mine.”

Bilbo trembled when those strong arms embraced him and his husband kissed him vehemently. He gave up and kneeled on the floor, knowing well how his lover enjoyed seeing him at his feet. But before he could even touch the dwarf’s blue clothes, he was spun around and ended with his face against the mattress. “Thorin!” he screamed, when two hands parted his buttocks. Then he felt a moist and soft sensation. After having listened to Ori’s stories, he knew what to expect… only that there were no fingers, and the wetness was not oil. “Thorin!” he repeated, furiously blushing, his face illuminated by the Arkestone hanging from his neck. His husband was licking him _there_! “By the Valar, Thorin, what are you doing to me?”

The King didn’t answer him, he just chuckled, and the hot air from his mouth made the hobbit shiver. He sucked on his finger and begun to push alongside his tongue. The couple had enjoyed their bodies all that year long, they had just waited for that very day to finally consummate their bond. So Thorin was also trembling when he felt his One’s tightness surrounding his finger. “Are you well, âzyungâl?” Bilbo simply whined, moving his hips eagerly. He was on fire, anxious but excited too, having waited for so long.

Tongue and fingers worked prodigiously together, with the help of some special oil that Óin provided. Soon the hobbit was loosened enough to allow three thick dwarvish fingers to slide in. Then he screamed. His husband had found that special spot in him, and it was so intense that —even though he was waiting for it— the sharp pleasure made him exceedingly loud.

The door opened and two guards went in, swords in hand. Thorin —kneeling on the floor completely dressed— didn’t turn around, wanting to hide his consort’s nude body. The King just said something in khuzdul, and the royal guards answered in khuzdul too, before leaving the room.

Bilbo was violently blushing with shame. “I’ll never again be able to look at them in the eyes.”

“They have not seen anything,” said Thorin. He continued moving his fingers while nuzzling the hobbit’s crack. He bit softly on a plump buttock, smiling against the chubby flesh when a new scream revealed that his fingertip had once again reached his One’s sweet spot.

“Thorin! I’m serious! Dwalin… Dwalin is the Captain of the Guard! He’ll know!”

“Of course he’ll know, as soon as you sit next to me at the banquet. You won’t be able to hide the grimace on your face once I’ve reclaimed you.”

“Thorin!”

“Âzyungâl, save my name for when you’re coming. And don’t worry about Dwalin, he himself is going to ask us about our first time, and Ori will be there listening carefully.” Bilbo groaned. “Now get to the bed, on your back, knees up, your delicious ass exposed for me.”

The hobbit rushed to the bed when Thorin spanked his bum. “I’m staining the sheets with oil.”

Thorin laughed. “Homely hobbit. Tonight the sheets will be dirtier, soaked with sweat and our mixed seed.” The dwarf placed himself between his One’s bent legs, and kissed him while his hands worked on his own tunic. “And you’ll be the one who stained them the most, my dear.” 

Bilbo giggled, like he always did when Thorin teased him about his greedy sex drive. “It’s your fault, I’m starving for you.”

“Then I’m going to sate that hunger,” he stated. Leaning on an elbow, he freed his shaft from his pants and slowly brushed it along his One’s crack. “Are you nervous?”

“No. Not much,” confessed Bilbo, trembling a bit.

“Just think about all those people in the Principal Hall, waiting for us, while we are here, consummating our bond.”

“Thorin!” scolded the hobbit. But he was more relaxed now, even giggling again, in spite of that hard flesh pushing inside of him. There was no pain, even though the feeling was not pleasurable at all. He pushed a bit also, remembering Ori’s words when the lad told him about his own experience with Dwalin, who —according to the scribe— was so well endowed. The trick worked well enough, for he felt his husband’s hips bumping his bum. Thorin moaned deeply, and Bilbo admired his majesty, even in blatant bliss. His eyes were closed and his face up, the blue light of the Arkestone reflecting on him. “You’re glowing,” he said, appreciating his beloved’s beauty.

Thorin took his precious jewel and placed it on Bilbo’s chest, so that now both their faces were illuminated. He smiled, overjoyed, and kissed his One on that turned-up nose. “I’m inside of you. I’ve claimed you,” he said, marvelled.

“I know. I’m feeling you,” joked Bilbo. He laughed when his husband bit his neck, but he stopped when the movement brought Thorin deeper inside him. The feeling made him gasp; he was so full that the pressure was almost unbearable. “You claimed me long ago, my love,” he said, breathlessly.

“Now I know. You were mine the moment I set foot on your doorstep.” Bilbo chuckled, and Thorin bit him again, on the same spot. “But this,” he added, making a movement with his hips, “ _this_ is different. I’m where nobody has been before, and nobody else ever will be. Never,” he stated possessively. Then he begun to move, slowly, testing his One’s reaction. Soon the hobbit was relaxed again, and then he changed his angle, trying to reach that spot that would melt his keen halfling. When suddenly Bilbo’s body tensed under him, he knew he had reached his objective. “Good, âzyungâl?”

“So good,” he moaned. “Better than your fingers. Do it again!”

“My bossy hobbit. I’ll do it so many times that you will not be talking so fluently for a while.” Thorin grabbed his hips and stilled the small body, determined to keep his word. Soon Bilbo was nonsensical enough for his taste, but he didn’t gloat over it, because he was panting too. The tight caress of his One’s body was driving him crazy with need. Remembering that that very night he would have time to torture him deliciously, he took his husband’s erection in hand and teased him to completion. “That’s it, _mahâysîth_ , feel me inside of you, feel my love… and give me yours. Give me your pleasure.”

Ignoring the guards at the door, Bilbo screamed his climax, the most intense he had felt in all his life. When his gaze focused again he admired his King’s face of pure ecstasy. He was so proud to have brought such joy to him. And he said what he knew Thorin would love to hear in that very moment: “I won’t be able to walk straight now.” The dwarf’s smirk was preciously for the hobbit. “I’d better remain here for the rest of the day,” he joked. His husband kissed him sweetly.

“No, you hadn’t. You’re going to go down there and show everybody how well I took care of you. All of them will know you’re mine,” he growled.

“My love, but of course they know. They’re guests at our wedding, after all,” Bilbo teased. “Don’t worry, Dáin will be gone soon, and…”

“My cousin doesn’t concern me,” confessed Thorin. Now Bilbo was his consort, he needed to know how to behave properly. “Bofur is the one who worries me. What were you doing with him, just after our bonding ceremony?”

“Bofur? He was just congratulating me. And giving me a gift.”

“A gift? What gift? That was not the moment for gifts, nor the place!” Thorin yelled angrily.

“But it was a special gift…” said Bilbo, surprised by his husband sudden rage.

“What. Special. Gift?” demanded Thorin, trying to restrain his fury. “Where’s that _thing_?”

“In my ceremonial tunic.”

Thorin rushed to the armchair, searching Bilbo’s clothes without taking care not to disturb the outfit for the banquet. Finally he found the gift, some king of bird, with a mechanism to make the wings move. It sounded like a rattle. It was a toy, a baby’s toy. A dwarfling’s toy. A toy for his future son. By Durin’s beard, he was moved. He placed the toy on the bedside table and returned to the bed. Thorin kissed his One and put his head on Bilbo’s chest. He stared the soft tummy, imagining it swollen with his child. “Could you be pregnant already?”

“I don’t know. I don’t even know if I can get pregnant, Thorin, I’m a Took, but…”

“Ssh… Don’t worry, that doesn’t matter now,” said the dwarf. But his eyes were full of hope. He kissed his hobbit’s tummy and then he got up and kissed that soft mouth too. “Come on, let me dress you. Dís will chastise me if your tunic is not perfectly put together.”

“But you have to go first! If we enter the hall together…”

“They will all know,” answered Thorin, with a pleased smile.

“But the protocol…”

“I’m the King, I set the rules. Balin will probably be mad, but Dáin’s face will be worth of it.” Thorin didn’t mention the miner or the elf, but he was going to enjoy their faces too.

Bilbo embraced him. Their wedding day was being amazing. And the night promised to improve on it. Maybe he’d request Ori to make a story of it, only for the both of them…

**The End**

**Author's Note:**

> Art by [Miusart](http://miusart.tumblr.com/post/56247322860)


End file.
